Series  //,  in  uuhich  Betty  ^^Goes  broad" 

‘"Cratels” 

4 

11.  Betty’s  Trip  to 
South  America 

PART  FIRST 

(Venezuela — Bolivia) 


Katharine  R.  Crowell 

Author  of  '‘'‘Fair  America,"  '‘'Pioneers" 
'‘'Japan for  Juniors,  " etc. 

Written  by  Request 

The  Woman’s  Presbyterian  Board  of  Missions 
of  the  Northwest 
Room  48,  509  S.  Wabash  Ave., 
Chicago,  111. 

Price,  5 cents  each:  50  cents  a dozen. 


Copyright,  1916 
by  Katharine  R,  Crowell 


INTRODUCTORY 

(Wherein  Betty  McAlister  tells  a hit  of 
news  to  “Miss  Margaret”  and  the  girls,  in 
missionary  meeting  assembled  and  just  now 
in  the  enjoyment  of  the  social  half-hour  which 
always  follows  the  regular  meetings  of  this 
society.) 

Betty.  Oh,  Miss  Margaret!  I have  some- 
thing splendid  to  tell  you,  but  please  try  to 
guess  what  it  is  I 

Miss  Margaret.  Guess?  How  can  I?  You 
must  help  me,  girls  1 

Gladys.  I know,  Betty;  you  are  going  away 
again  1 

Betty.  But  where  am  I going? 

Susanna  (doubtfully).  Not  to  Europe — 
now? 

Edith.  To  China? 

Janet.  India? 

Helen.  The  Philippines? 

Betty.  No!  No!  No!  No! 

Miss  Margaret.  (Aside,  looking  at  Betty’s 
dancing  eyes,  and  hearing  her  merry 
laughter.)  Bless  her  dear,  glad  heart! 
(Aloud)  Did  Columbus  discover  this 
country  you  are  going  to,  Betty? 

Gladys  (interrupting).  I know!  The 
Bahama  Islands  ! 

Betty  (merrily).  You’re  getting  “hot,” 
Gladys ! 

Janet.  Not  South  America! 

Betty.  Yes!  Actually  South  America! 
Isn’t  it  just  too  lovely?  I never  supposed  I 
should  cross  the  equator! 

Susanna.  Who  is  going  with  you,  Betty? 

Betty.  Why,  of  course.  Aunt  Julia.  That 
is,  I am  going  with  her.  Her  publisher  has 
just  set  his  heart  on  having  Auntie  write  about 
South  America.  But  is  she  not  lovely  to  ask 
me  to  go  with  her?  It  is  too  bad,  though,  that 
you  cannot  all  go.  I don’t  like  to  be  the  only 
traveler.  But,  of  course.  I’ll  write  you. 


3 


Miss  Margaret.  Girls!  Why  need  Betty  be 
the  only  traveler?  Why  should  we  not  all  go 
to  South  America? 

Gladys.  But  Miss  Margaret,  I haven’t  an 
Aunt  Julia  I 

Susanna.  Or  a writing  aunt  by  any  other 
name ! 

Edith.  Or  any  aunt  at  all,  for  that  matter  I 

Helen.  My  aunt  Helen  travels  lots,  but 
alas  I she  does  not  invite  me  to  go  with  her. 

Miss  Margaret.  But  I mean  that  while 
Betty  is  gone  we  shall  become  a stay-at-home 
travel  club.  I promise  you  beautiful  times. 

Gladys  (regretfully).  I suppose  you’ll  cross 
the  Andes  on  a pampa,  Betty! 

Susanna  (reprovingly,  in  the  midst  of  shouts 
of  laughter).  You  mean  on  a llanos,  Gladys, 

Betty  (her  merr\^  laughter  ringing  out  like 
silver  bells).  Oh,  Miss  Margaret!  they  must 
be  thinking  of  a llama! 

Edith.  Yes,  we  are;  but,  Betty,  why  should 
he  be  an  ill  yama?  Certainly  a well  yama 
would  be  much  nicer  to  ride. 

Miss  Margaret  (joining  in  the  merry  peals 
which  broke  out  anew).  Betty  is  merely  tell- 
ing us  how  to  pronounce  1-1-a-m-a.  You  know 
what  that  is,  don’t  you? 

Edith.  Why,  of  course  I do.  Miss  Margaret. 
It  is  a South  American  camel. 

Gladys  (aggrieved).  Well,  that  is  what  / 
meant.  I can  just  see  Bett}^  going  over  the 
mountains  on  a — cam,el ! 

Miss  Margaret.  But,  girls.  I’m  sure  she  will 
in  that  case  v^rite  us  a description  of  her  sen- 
sations. I suggest  that  while  we  are  making 
a tour  of  South  America  at  home,  we  each 
think  up  six  or  more  questions — regular  posers 
— and  when  our  sure-enough  traveler  gets 
home  fire  them  at  her  and  just  see  if  our 
Betty  can  answer  them  all ! 

Betty  (her  eyes  brighter  than  ever). 
Agreed! 


A 


Betty’s  Trip 
to  South  America 

PART  FIRST 

On  the  Caribbean  Sea,  Oct.,  191 — 
Dear  Girls  of  the  Livingstone  Club: 

Here  am  I actually  sailing  the  Spanish 
Main!  Aunt  Julia  spoke  of  it  this  morning, 
and  presto  I up  jumped  in  my  mind  the  buc- 
caneers and  the  Spanish  “ships  of  gold”,  for 
it  is  easy,  when  sailing  (or  steaming)  over 
the  very  same  waters  to  conjure  up  the  great 
galleons  and  Captain  Smollett  and  Sir  Fran- 
cis Drake,  Sir  Amyas  and  all  the  rest  of  those 
fascinating  old  pirates,  and  I was  very  willing 
to  hoard  zvith  them  the  ship  of  gold,  but  my 
imagination  did  not  travel  any  farther.  I 
never  did  like  gory  tales  1 

But  I have  had  other  thrills  too.  Fancy 
standing  just  where  Columbus  stood  when  he 
“discovered”  South  America!  (in  1498).  Rut 
— poor  ignorant  man  ! — still  looking  for  ^larco 
Polo’s  Cipango  and  the  isles  of  spices — he 
thought  these  were  Asiatic  waters  and  sup- 
posed the  Orinoco,  near  whose  shores  he 
landed,  was  one  of  the  rivers  that  flowed 
out  of  the  garden  of  Eden  ! 

I feel  so  sorry  that  the  brave  old  sailor 
never  knew  that  he  had  found  a new  world 
for  us ; still  it  was  a good  deal  to  see  Vene- 
zuela. Such  a lovely  country, — called  “Little 
Venice”  because  the  early  explorers  found 
the  people  living  on  their  lagoons  in  houses 
built  upon  piles. 

The  oldest  city  in  the  new  world — older 
even  than  Panama — is  Cumana,  a beautiful 
city  set  in  the  midst  of  mountains.  Very  near 
lies  the  spot  on  which  Columbus  first  set  foot 
on  the  mainland.  Aunt  Julia  says  the  city  is 
also  distinguished  as  being  the  birthplace  of 
slavery  in  America.  For  here  lived  the 

s 


priest,  La  Casas,  who  to  save  the  Indian  from 
the  killing  labor  of  the  mines,  advocated  the 
bringing  of  slaves  from  Africa.  That  seems 
to  me  like  robbing  Peter  to  pay  Paul ! 

I hope  I shall  find  letters  from  you  waiting 
for  us  at  Caracas. 

Yours, 

Betty. 

Caracas,  Oct.,  191— 
My  Dear  Miss  Margaret: 

I wish  I could  give  you  some  idea  of  the 
beautiful  things  we  saw  from  the  train  as  we 
came  up  from  La  Guayra,  the  port  of  Caracas. 
There  are  wonderful  forests,  and  in  the 
mountains  we  caught  glimpses  of  foaming 
cascades  and  banks  of  tall  feathery  ferns,  and 
drooping  over  them  were  thousands  of  the 
loveliest  orchids,  scarlet  and  white  and  orange. 
Flying  among  the  trees  were  birds  of  all  col- 
ors, and  the  most  perfectly  gorgeous  butter- 
flies hovered  over  the  flowers.  I never  saw 
such  brilliance  of  color  except  perhaps  in  the 
most  dazzling  of  precious  stones.  The  butter- 
flies, especially,  were  simply  wonderful. 

Caracas,  from  a distance  and  against  its 
background  of  mountains,  was  really  beauti- 
ful, but  we  find  its  buildings  do  not  look  so 
well  at  close  range,  still  I am  perfectly  amazed 
by  what  I have  seen.  Already,  I am  deeply 
ashamed  that  I knew  so  little  about  Venezuela, 
when  it  is  no  farther  from  home,  that  is,  from 
Florida,  than  St.  Louis  is  from  New  York! 

Caracas  has  a population  of  about  80,000. 
What  do  you  think  of  that?  Some  of  its 
buildings  are  very  fine,  and  the  houses  of  the 
rich  people  have  lovely  patios  in  which  are 
trees  and  plants,  some  of  them  having  per- 
fectly gorgeous  flowers,  others  the  most  deli- 
cate and  exquisitely-colored  blossoms.  And 
the^  fenis!  I simply  have  no  words  to  fit 
their  gracefulness  and  beauty.  For  all  that, 
I’d  rather  live  in  a house  where  the  windows 
“look  out  and  not  in.” 

There  do  not  seem  to  be  any  nice,  pleasant, 
middling  homes  in  the  cities  we  have  seen; 


6 


the  people  are  either  very  exalted — Auntie 
says  I mean  aristocratic — or  very  poor  and 
despised.  And  she  says  they  will  stay  so  until 
the  Bible  has  free  course  and  is  glorified  in 
Venezuela.  When  that  time  comes  what 
lovely  homes  there  will  be ; it  is  such  a beauti- 
ful country!  Aunt  Julia  says  perhaps  Colum- 
bus was  not  so  far  wrong ; the  garden  of  Eden 
might  have  been  here,  for  in  parts,  Auntie 
says,  Venezuela  is  like  paradise.  Mountains, 
valleys,  lakes,  rivers,  forests  and  meadows, 
are  so  beautiful,  so  warm  and  green  in  the 
clear  and  balmy  air,  and  there  is  such  a won- 
derful light — bright  yet  soft — just  flooding 
the  air  and  shining  on  everything,  touching 
flowers  and  birds  and  butterflies  into  sparkling, 
dazzling  color.  I do  so  wish  you  could  see 
it,  dear  Miss  Margaret ! 

Along  the  coast  there  are  rather  low  moun- 
tains, and  back  of  them  upland  prairies,  and 
bevond  higher  and  higher  mountains.  The 
uplands  afford  rich  pasture  for — well,  I should 
say  for  millions  of  cattle  and  sheep. 

But  you  must  not  think  I mean  pastures  like 
ours  at  home,  belonging  to  lovely  farms  and 
farmhouses  like  Susanna’s  father’s,  where  a 
lot  of  jolly  boys  and  girls  gather  every  day — 
three  times  a day — around  a table  “groaning” 
with  good  _ things,  for  oh,  Miss  Margaret ! 
Venezuela  is  not  like  that  at  all.  The  people 
do  not  own  land  as  we  do,  and  they  are  op- 
pressed and  taxed  nearly  to  death,  their  hard 
earnings  going  to  make  up  the  millions  of  dol- 
lars which  their  rulers  are  laying  up  for 
themselves. 

Some  of  the  boys  and  girls  look  as  if  they 
never  had  what  we  w'ould  call  a hearty  meal, 
yet  nearly  evervthing  will  grow  in  this  fer- 
tile country.  The  people  might  be  wealthy 
just  from  the  cultivation  of  coffee  and  cocoa, 
but  they  are  not. 

You  told  me.  Miss  Margaret,  to  keep  a 
sharp  lookout  for  all  the  bright  spots  in  South 
America,  and  I am  trying  to,  but  there  do 
not  seem  to  be  any  in  the  lives  of  the  chil- 
dren ^ here.  I was  feeling  so  todav  when 
Auntie  came  into  my  room.  “Not  low' in  yoTir 


7 


mind,  Betty,  surely!”  she  said,  as  she  gave  me 
a quick  look.  “I  am  afraid  I am,  a little  bit, 
Auntie,”  I said.  It  seems  so  selfish  to  have 
everything  good  in  life,  while  things  are  so 
sad  for  the  girls  we  have  seen. 

“We  are  trying  to  do  something  for  them,” 
said  Auntie  in  a cheerful  tone,  though  she 
looked  sorry,  too.  “I  think,”  she  continued, 
“that  there  is  a mission  school  in  Caracas. 
May  be  it  will  lift  our  spirits  a bit  to  look  it 
up.” 

I was  glad  to  go  for  in  all  my  trips  with 
Aunt  Julia  a heavy  load  seems  to  fall  from 
me  when  we  visit  the  mission  schools  ! Sa  we 
found  the  Protestant  mission — the  only  one,  1 
think — and  here  at  least  was  a bright  spot,  for 
in  the  school  boys  and  girls  are  being  taught 
about  the  best  things  in  life,  which  we  girls 
have  known  since  we  were  babies  ; at  least  I 
cannot  remember  a time  when  I did  not  know 
about  them.  But  after  all  one  school  is  a very 
tiny  bright  spot  in  the  midst  of  the  darkness  of 
\''enezuela,  where  only  about  twenty  out  of 
every  hundred  children  can  read,  nor  can  their 
fathers  and  mothers  read,  so  how  can  they 
possibly  know  the  “glad  tidings”? 

Some  of  the  people  who  come  to  the  mis- 
sion are  dread  fully  poor,  but  Spanish  women 
generally  know  how  to  do  drawn-work  and 
to  embroider  and  the  missionary  encourages 
these  women  to  work  and  then  tries  to  sell 
their  work  for  them.  Aunt  Julia  thinks  this 
is  a splendid  thing  and  has  given  orders  for  a 
good  many  pieces  of  drawn-work.  Also,  but 
please  do  not  tell  the  girls,  I have  bought 
some  exquisite  handkerchiefs  which  I hope 
will  reach  them  by  Christmas. 

Auntie  is  calling  me  to  go  with  her  to 
Bolivar  Square  to  see  the  statue  of  Bolivar, 
the  Liberator,  one  of  the  great  heroes  of 
.South  America  (as  of  course  you  know.  Miss 
IMargaret,  but  the  girls  might  need  the  ex- 
planation), so  I must  close. 

Your  loving 
Betty. 

P.  S.  There  is  a statue  of  the  Liberator 
in  New  York  City,  too.  When  we  were  pass- 


8 


ing  through  Auntie  tried  over  the  telephone 
to  find  its  location  and  the  answer  was — 
“Believer  in  whatf’  Auntie  felt  like  saying 
“In  liberty!”  but  she  did  not.  Probably  the 
man  had  never  heard  of  Bolivar!  Of  course, 
Aunt  Julia  did  not  give  up  at  that  and  later 
found  that  the  statue  is  in  Central  Park,  at 
least,  the  pedestal  is  there  now,  and  the 
statue  soon  will  be;  a sculptor  is  making  it 
now — so  the  man  said. — B.  M. 


Barranquilla,  Colombia,  S.  Am., 


Dear  Girls: 


October,  191 — 


Barranquilla  does  not  give  one  a great 
amount  of  energy;  still  I think  I have  enough 
for  the  writing  of  a letter.  Anyway,  ener^ 
or  none,  I must  tell  you  about  the  splendid 
times  I have  been  enjoying. 

We  "went  from  La  Guayra  to  Cartagena, 
which,  by  the  way,  sent  thrills  all  over  me,  for 
it  is  in  the  very  heart  of  the  Spanish  Mam 
and  from  here  to  Panama  and  across  the 
isthmus  ran  “the  road  of  gold,”  and  this  city 
was  a very  nest  of  pirates.  Did  you  ever 
hear  that  zve  were  near-pirates  once  upon  a 
time?  I mean  when  we  were  English  colon- 
ists, before  “Uncle  Sam”  was  born.  I have 
read  in  Aunt  Julia’s  books  about  the  terrible 
times  we  had  and  at  least  three  thousand  of  us 
were  drowned  in  the  sea.  Of  course  zve  did 
not  pirate  of  our  own  free  will  but  were  com- 
manded to  do  it  by  the  king  of  England,  for 
these  were  the  days  when  England  tried  to 
snatch  away  from  Spain  some  of  the  riches 
bestowed  upon  her  b}"  a long-time-ago  pope 
of  Rome. 

Cartagena  was  too  strong  for  them  though, 
and  you  would  think  so  if  you  could  see  the 
ruins  of  the  great  fortifications.  I was  as- 
tonished to  see  such  things  in  our  side  of  the 
world.  I could  tell  you  how  it  all  came  about, 
for  Aunt  Julia  has  made  me  put  a great 
many  what  I had  supposed  to  be  separate  bits 
of  history  together  in  their  right  places  and  it 


has  been  awfully  interesting  to  see  the  whole 
thing  work  out.  I will  leave  this  for  you  to 
do,  because  today  I want  to  write  about 
modern  history,  to  tell  you  in  fact  what  we 
have  been  doing  in  Colombia ! 

But  first  I will  say  that  it  was  from  about 
this  spot  that  Balboa  set  out  upon  the  journ^'y 
which  gave  him  the  first  white  man’s  sight  of 
the  Pacific  ocean.  I do  not  have  to  go  to 
Auntie’s  books  for  that  story  for  I had  only 
to  shut  my  eyes  and  think,  when  presto ! I 
saw  him  standing  alone,  “silent,  upon  a peak 
in  Darien”.  Being  rather  tired  of  seeing  that 
quotation  standing — like  Balboa — alone,  I 
looked  it  up  in  Auntie’s  “Keats”  and  read  the 
whole  sonnet. 

That  was  thrilling!  But — where  was  I? 
Just  about  to  sail  up  the  Magdalena  river, 
were  we  not?  Well,  we  did  sail  up  ajid  up 
the  river  for  six  hundred  miles  through 
swamps  and  forests  and  jungles.  No  ques- 
tion about  the  tropics  there ! The  palm  trees 
and  blazing  creepers  and  flowers  and  the  deli- 
cious fragrance  of  the  vanilla  orchid,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  monkeys  and  the  paroquets, 
were  sign  enough. 

And  oh,  girls ! you  should  see  the  quanti- 
ties of  fruit — especially  bananas, — millions  of 
them,  and  in  some  of  the  big  bunches — is 
“bunches”  right?  Perhaps  it  should  be  clus- 
ters or  sprays!  Anyway,  in  the  midst  we  saw 
sometimes  the  awfulest  creatures!  Tarantulas 
and  enormous  scorpions,  and  even  snakes— 
sure  I knew  we  were  in  the  tropics ! 

One  day  Aunt  Julia  said  to  a missionary 
in  Barranquilla  that  she  was  glad  on  account 
of  the  poor  people  to  see  so  much  fruit  and 
he  told  her  that  a negro  delegate  to  some  mis- 
sionary conference  had  said  the  people  of  Co- 
lombia were  “fed  by  gravitation  and  clothed 
by  sunshine”.  The  missionary  must  have 
thought  that  he  had  made  a very  good  joke, 
for  Aunt  Julia  laughed  merrily.  And  after- 
wards when  some  fruit  fell  to  the  ground,  she 
lausrhed  again. 

“Why  did  3^ou  laugh  so  much,  Auntie?”  I 
said.  “Had  you  heard  that  story  before?” 


10 


“Not  more  than  fifty  times,  my  dear”, 
laughed  Auntie.  “But  I can  stand  it,  I think, 
at  least  once  more.  You  are  an  observant 
child,  Betty.” 

But  there  is  a great  deal  of  suffering  here 
from  sickness  and  not  much  is  done  for  sick 
people.  Auntie  asked  me  if  I knew  how  many 
physicians  there  are  at  home.  “Why,  no. 
Auntie,”  I said,  and  she  said,  “There  is  one 
doctor  for  every  500  people,  and  Colombia  has 
one  for  every  6,000.”  We  saw  one  splendid 
hospital  in  Venezuela  at  Caracas,  and  one  not 
so  good  at  Bogota  which  was  so  full  that 
some  of  the  patients  had  to  be  laid  on  mat- 
tresses on  the  floor.  Aunt  Julia  spent  all  the 
time  she  could  in  this  hospital  while  we  were 
in  Bogota.  She  speaks  Spanish  very  well  and 
the  faces — awfully  sad  faces — of  the  women 
brightened  as  she  talked  with  them.  I think 
there  is  one  Bible  command  written  on  Aunt 
Julia’s  heart  and  that  is,  “Speak  ye  comforta- 
bly”. She  does  so  wherever  we  go  and  the 
“old,  old  story”  she  tells  seems  absolutely  new 
to  her  listeners.  Auntie  says  she  would  not  for 
worlds  miss  these  opportunities  to  “comfort 
those  who  are  in  any  trouble”. 

Well,  after  we  had  steamed  up  the  Mag- 
dalena for  six  hundred  miles  we  came  to  a 
sandbar  and  rapids  and  for  about  sixty  miles 
we  rode  on  mules  over  a most  terrifying  trail 
— too  narrow  and  broken  to  be  called  a road. 
Thev  cannot  have  a very  good  government 
in  Colombia,  or  they  would  have  better  roads 
than  that.  I tell  you.  girls,  it  took  some  nerve 
to  edge  along  on  a narrow  bit  of  ledge  over- 
hanging a sheer  wall  of  rock  which  stretched 
down  for  I should  think  thousands  of  feet, 
with  a river  at  the  bottom  of  it!  But  I 
thought  “What  our  missionaries  do  without 
a quiver,  or  at  least,  without  ever  speaking  of 
their  quivers,  I ought  to  be  able  to  do  some- 
how,” so  I set  my  teeth,  “looked  up  and  not 
down”  and  after  what  seemed  a long  time 
found  the  mule  scrambling  along  over  rocks 
and  loose  stones  but  with  enough  room  for  his 
four  (and  fore)  feet,  and  oh  I the  wonderful 
beauty  we  were  in  I Tr  made  me  so  happy. 


n 


yet  I could  hardly  keep  from  crying.  I’m 
sure  I don’t  know  why. 

There  was  a great  change  in  the  forests 
as  we  mounted  higher  and  higher.  No  more 
palm-trees,  but  in  their  place  great  fern- 
trees  and  oaks  and  laurels. 

At  a certain  point  on  the  way  up  Auntie 
asked  the  guide  how  high  we  were  above  the 
level  of  the  sea.  He  said,  6,000  feet.  (I  can 
understand  Spanish  pretty  well,  now,  when 
I hear  it,  and  can  speak  it  a little,  but  when  I 
have  much  to  sav,  prefer  English.)  When  the 
man  said,  “6,000  feet”,  I exclaimed,  “For 
which,  O be  joyful!”  and  Auntie  said,  “Why 
especially  joyful  at  this  noint,  Bettv?”  “Be- 
cause Auntie”,  I said,  “there  are  no  snakes, 
at  least  no  poisonous  ones,  above  6,000  feet  1” 

“I  am  afraid,  Betty,”  Auntie  said,  “you 
have  not  much  love  for  things  that  glide  or 
creep  or  wriggle.” 

“No,  Auntie,  I said,  “but  I have  for  those 
that  fly.  Just  look,  now,  at  those  gorgeous 
birds  !” 

And,  oh,  girls  1 once  I saw  in  a tree  a big 
yellowish-brown  animal  with  dark  rinp^s  a’wl 
spots  something  like  a leopard.  As  we 
watched,  he  suddenly  sprang  out  of  the  tree 
and  away  down  the  mountain ; probably  he 
saw  something  there  that  might  furnish  a din- 
ner, My!  but  it  was  exciting!  Of  course  I 
have  seen  jaguars  in  zoos  at  home  but  this 
was  different. 

But  birds  and  animals  were  not  all  we 
saw.  The  wretched  old  road  we  were  on  had 
as  I said  gone  to  rack  and  ruin  and  certainly 
it  was  old  enough  to  do  so.  having  been  made 
in  the  days  of  the  conquistadores  or  perhaps 
earlier.  However,  some  feeble  repairs  were 
in  process  here  and  there,  and  who  do  vou 
suppose  wielded  the  pick  and  shovel?  Whv, 
women!  and  women  carried  our  bags  to  the 
hotel  in  Bogota  and  in  the  market-place  we 
saw  women  who  were  butcher's ! 

Think  of  the  girls  of  Colombia  growing  up 
to  this,  to  being  butchers  and  then  think 
of  our  beautiful  chance  in  life. 

Some  things  in  South  America  are  so  dif- 


12 


ferent  from  the  same  things  in  North  Amer- 
ica ! Some  day  I am  going  to  ask  Aunt 
Julia  to  explain  to  me  why  this  should  be. 
Whatever  is  the  reason  I am  awfully  sorry 
about  it  and  very  thankful  to  be  a North 
American  ! 

At  least  we  can  do  a little  to  help  in  mak- 
ing things  better  in  Colombia  for,  as  I am 
thankful  to  say — I mean  really  full  of  thanks- 
giving— there  are  mission  schools  in  Bogota 
and  here  in  Barranquilla,  in  Medellin,  Bucara- 
manga  and  Cerete.  This  letter  should  reach 
you  in  time  to  be  read  at  our  next  meeting, 
and  I can  just  see  you  looking  up  all  these 
places  on  the  map  and  Tm  sure  if  you  could 
see  what  I am  seeing,  the  misery  and  ignor- 
ance of  so  many,  the  images  which  seem  to  be 
all  that  even  girls  of  the  higher  classes  who 
are  taught  some  things,  know  of  Jesus  Christ, 
the  Son  of  God — many  pitiful  things  there  are 
— I am  sure  you  would  each  pray  a little 
praver  for  the  girls  of  Colombia. 

There  is  ever  so  much  more  to  tell,  but 
— seeing  I am  in  uncnergetic  Barranquilla — 
perhaps  this  screed  is  long  enough  ! 

Oceans  of  love  from  your  friend, 

Betty. 

P.  S.  Don’t  forget  picturesque  old  Carta- 
gena. where  there  used  to  be  the  tortures  of 
the  Inquisition!  This  in  America!  It  has  no 
mission  school  but  the  missionaries  say  it 
needs  one ! And  there  is  something  else  to 
be  thankful  for — the  work  of  the  Bible  So- 
ciety. Aunt  Julia  says  it  is  splendid  and  it 
takes  brave  men  to  do  it.  B.  M. 

P.  S.  No.  2.  (To  Susanna.)  On  the  way 
up  to  Bogota  we  saw  many  llanos,  but  I did 
not  try  to  ride  one ! B.  M. 

Lima,  Peru,  S.  America, 
Nov.,  191— 

Dear  Girls  : 

I wonder  whether  you  have  re''eived  all  the 
letters  I have  sent  you  since  we  left  Barran- 
Quilla?  and  all  the  post  cards?  Some  are 
good  and  others  not  so  good,  but  please  put 


13 


them  all  with  the  archives  of  our  society. 
In  time  (if  I continue  my  travels!)  we  shall 
have  quite  a world-wide  collection. 

Aunt  Julia  had  planned  to  stop  over  at 
Guayaquil  and  go  to  Quito,  but  fevers  and 
plagues  are  so  bad  at  Guayaquil  that  we  were 
not  allowed  to  land.  I hope  you  have  not 
missed  the  epistle  written — part  of  it — while 
crossing  the  line,  or  one  from  Callao  telling 
about  the  stunts  we  went  through  in  getting  to 
land. 

The  steamers  cannot  come  in  very  close 
and  there  was  a tremendous  surf  running. 
Such  fun!  at  least  for  me.  You  know  I 
simply  love  gymnastics.  But  our  gym  at  home 
is — I wonder  if  Aunt  Julia  would  let  me  say 
it? — is  not  in  it,  when  I think  of  the  wet, 
slippery,  swaying  rope  ladders  and  the  little 
boats  dancing  and  r’arin’  up,  as  Jim  our  coach- 
man would  say,  in  the  raging  surf.  (I  told 
vou  all  this  and  much  more  in  my  letter  from 
Callao.) 

We  had  quantities  of  rain  in  Colombia  and 
when  passing  by  Ecuador,  but  the  coasts  of 
Peru  were  extremely  dry  (but  the  yellow 
sands  tossed  far  up  the  mountain  sides,  the 
purple  shadows  and  the  lovely  sunset  glows 
on  the  high  peaks  were  beautiful  beyond 
words).  We  saw  birds  by  the  million  I 
think.  It  was  fun  to  watch  them.  We  landed 
on  this  coast ; there  were  heavy,  gray  clouds 
in  the  sky,  and  we  thought  anyway  a shower 
must  be  about  due.  Showers  in  the  tropics 
are  a regular  deluge,  so  when  we  started  out 
to  sight-see  we  naturally  carried  our  umbrellas 
and  raincoats. 

Well,  people  on  the  street  looked  at  us  in 
a startled  kind  of  way,  then  turned  away  and 
laughed.  Yet  South  Americans  are  the 
politest  people  in  the  world ! What  could  be 
the  matter?  At  last.  Auntie  asked  a 3'-oung 
woman — awfully  pretty  and  with  perfectly  an- 
gelic eyes — if  there  was  anything  wrong  in 
our  appearance.  The  young  woman  smiled 
and  said  gently,  “Your  raincoats  and  um- 
brellas, Senorita ; it  has  not  rained  here 
for  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  years.” 


14 


So,  nearly  bursting  with  laughter,  both  sad- 
der and  meeker,  we  parted  from  our  rainy- 
day  things.  Suddenly  Aunt  Julia  said,  “Betty! 
Not  a word  of  this  to  your  Uncle  Bob  1” 
“If  Uncle  Bob  knew.  Auntie,  he  would  say  it 
was  ‘one  on  you!’”  “Well”,  said  Auntie, 
laughing  again,  “so  it  is!'*  “But,”  I said, 
“there  are  clouds  in  the  sky”.  “And  I should 
have  known”,  said  Auntie,  “that  those  clouds 
mean  nothing.  Do  you  remember,  Betty,  the 
Japanese  Current  whose  warm  breath  we  felt 
when  we  were  in  Alaska  and  how  it  brought 
down  the  rain?  Along  the  coast  flows  the 
Humboldt  Current  from  the  Antarctic  ocean, 
chilling  the  air  so  that  the  clouds  cannot  rain, 
and  we  are  not  likely  to  need  umbrellas  until 
we  reach  Valparaiso  and  possibly  not  then!" 

Lima  is  eight  miles  from  Callao — and  di- 
rectly south  of  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York! — As 
we  approach  it  from  below — it  is  500  feet 
above  Callao — it  made  quite  a picture  in  the 
sunset  glow,  the  twin  towers  of  the  cathedral 
catching  the  light  and  reflecting  it. 

This  city  has  a long  history,  which  Auntie 
had  helped  me  to  study  on  board  the  steamer. 
It  was  the  capital  of  the  Spanish  possessions 
in  South  America  and  of  course  is  most  in- 
teresting in  many  ways.  Pizzaro’s  tomb  is 
here  and  we  have  seen  it,  but,  somehow,  I 
cannot  get  up  many  thrills  over  him.  He  was 
brave,  I suppose,  after  a fashion — Well,  I 
must  respectfully  refer  you  for  his  story  to 
Yrtscoti's  Conquest  of  Peru!  for  I am  much 
more  interested  in  the  present  occupants  of 
Lima.  It  is  rather  staggering  though  to  think 
how  far  Pizzaro  is  responsible  for  the  condi- 
tions— and  the_  people — of  all  Spanish  Amer- 
ica. Aunt  Julia  and  I were  talking  about  it 
this  morning.  That  is,  she  was  talking  and  I 
was  listening — and  learning  something  every 
minute. 

It  was  fine  to  spend  the  rest  of  the  day 
where  so  much  is  being  done  to  improve  the 
conditions  and  help  the  people — I mean,  of 
course,  in  the  Protestant  mission.  Aunt  Julia 
told  me  that  the  religion  of  the  Middle  Ages 
was  brought  by  Spain  to  South  America  and 


15 


I remembered  for  myself  that  in  the  Middle 
Ages  people  were  not  allowed  to  read  or  own 
the  Bible  (and  not  many  of  them  could  read, 
anyway).  Auntie  says  the  people  are  still 
living  in  the  Dark  Ages  because  they  have 
never  had  the  Bible  to  enlighten  their  minds. 
In  the  Protestant  missions  of  course  the  Bible 
is  taught  and  also  those  other  things  which  wc 
have  learned  through  having  a free  Bible — 
how  to  make  the  very  best  of  hearts  and 
minds  and  hands.  Both  in  Lima  and  Callao 
the  mission  schools  are  doing  a splendid  thing 
in  training  boys  and  girls  to  do  their  share  in 
the  world’s  work  and  Auntie  says  the  biggest 
thing  to  be  done  in  the  South  American  world 
is  the  building  of  character,  and  that  is  what 
our  mission  schools  are  doing.  If  yow  could 
hear  Aunt  Julia  talk  about  these  things  you 
would  not  wonder,  as  perhaps  now  you  do, 
that  I rather  rave  over  seeing  these  hundreds 
of  boys  and  girls  so  earnestly  studying  ihe 
best  things.  The  girls  are  dear  and  so  gentle 
and  courteous  always,  just  charming.  Com- 
parisons— you  know  Auntie ! — are,  I regret  to 
say,  sometimes  drawn  between,  well,  we’ll 
say  between  the  girls  of  South  and  of  North 
America,  generally  expressed  however,  in  the 
singular  number! 

Lots  of  love,  from 

Betty. 

La  Paz,  Bolivia,  S.  A., 

December,  191 — 

Dear  Girls  : 

My  mind’s  eye  is  full  of  pictures ! I wish 
I could  make  you  see  them.  You  would 
laugh  over  some  of  them,  cry  over  others  and 
many  times  to  be  so  filled  with  awe  that  you 
could  only  gaze  and  be  still. 

For  we  have  come  from  Mollendo  (pro- 
nounced, Mohl-yen-do)  on  the  Peruvian  coast, 
higher  and  higher  up  through  the  mountains 
to  the  Bolivian  plateau,  14,000  feet  above  sea 
level. 

Think  of  that,  you  poor  little  dwellers  in 
the  low  country ! Perhaps,  though,  you  pre- 


16 


fer  low  country  in  North  America  to  moun- 
tains in  South  America.  To  tell  you  a secret, 
so  shall  I when  I get  home.  ''Be  it  ever 
so  low(ly)  there’s  no  place  like” — North 
America. 

In  the  meantime  and  just  to  visit,  Bolivia 
is  in  some  way  charming  and  wonderfully 
interesting. 

From  the  moment  at  Mollendo,  when  we 
were  lowered — in  a bucket  worked  by  a der- 
rick—from  the  ship’s  deck  into  a small  boat, 
which  in  the  perfectly  frightful  swell  of 
the  Pacific  seemed  in  one  minute  to  rise  to 
the  skies  on  the  crest  of  a wave  and  in  the 
next  to  sink  into  the  very  lowest  depths,  and 
yet  landed  us  at  length  in  safety;  until  now, 
when  I sit  ensconced  in  a carved  mahogany 
old  Spanish  balcony  in  La  Paz  either  writing 
to  you  or  gazing  out  on  a most  fascinating 
panorama  passing  in  the  street  below,  I have 
had  a most  exciting  and  delightful  experi- 
ence— a perfectly  dandy  time. 

Mollendo  itself  was  simply  horrid — dusty 
and  dreary  and  desolate.  Yet  even  there  we 
found  a missionary  who  must  have  had  a 
hard  time  keeping  up  enough  heart  and  cour- 
age to  stay ; but  somehow  he  does  and  has  for 
his  reward  a flourishing  church. 

The  journey  by  rail  from  Mollendo  up  to 
Lake  Titicaca  was  at  first  simply  terrifying 
in  its  worst  place?  but  after  two  days  of 
ceaseless  climbing  up  higher  and  higher  moun- 
tains with  narrower  and  narrower  little 
ledges  and  steeper  and  steeper  precipices  and 
ever  greater  and  more  stupendous  beauty  and 
grandeur,  my  feelings  were  too  full  to  hold 
any  more  and  I scarcely  noticed  even  when 
the  train  crept  along  over  the  most  thread- 
like path  around  some  awfully  perilous  place. 

On  the  way  up,  about  7,000  feet,  we  stopped 
at  a most  fascinating  town,  situated  in  an 
amazingly  green  and  fertile  valley  which  sud- 
denly burst  upon  our  view  after  the  utter  deso- 
lation of  dryness  through  which  we  had  jour- 
neyed all  the  way  from  Mollendo.  For  miles 
and  miles  we  had  not  seen  a growing  thing  ex- 
cept an  occasional  scraggly  cactus  and  in  this 


17 


surprising  valley,  with  a little  river  to  keep  it 
green,  were  fields  of  the  richest  alfalfa  and 
Indian  corn,  grapes,  peaches,  pomegranates — 
all  kinds  of  delicious  and  juicy  fruit,  most  re- 
freshing to  our  parched  and  dusty  throats. 

The  beautifully  situated  city  is  Arequipa,  in 
Peru,  full  of  interesting  sights  by  day  and 
night.  I wish  you  could  see  the  stars  from 
Arequipa ! But  you  would  not  recognize  the 
constellations.  It  gives  one  the  strangest  feel- 
ing to  see  different  stars  shining  over  one’s 
head,  and  at  first  I so  missed  our  splendid 
Big  Dipper  that  the  Southern  Cross  made  me 
homesick,  but  now  I love  it  and  shall  be  home- 
sick for  it  when  we  have  crossed  the  line 
again  and  I shall  see  it  no  more.  I meant  to 
say  that  the  dryness  and  thinness  of  the  air, 
led  Harvard — oiir  Harvard — to  select  Are- 
quipa for  the  site  of  its  observato^.  Thanks 
to  Aunt  Julia’s  letters  of  introduction,  we  had 
a beautiful  time  there.  Looking  at  the  stars 
through  their  wonderful  glass  took  my  breath 
away.  It  was  something  I shall  never  forget. 

At  Puna,  a small  town  on  Lake  Titicaca 
(Yes!  Titicaca.  I never  dreamed  when  I was 
a little  girl  studying  geography  that  I should 
ever  see  it!)  we  changed  cars  for — where  do 
you  think?  Your  wildest  guess  could  never 
hit  it,  so  I’ll  tell  you.  For  Cuzco!!  Don’t 
you  remember  when  that  wispeakahle  Pizzaro 
demanded  as  a ransom  for  the  Inca  a room- 
full  of  gold,  the  terrified  Indians  tore  off  the 
golden  plates  from  the  Temple  of  the  Sun? 
Well,  that  temple  was  at  Cuzco  and  so  was  I 
a few  days  ago.  I saw  the  ruins  of  that  very 
temple  and  the  wonderful  fortifications. 

I cannot  imagine  how  the  builders  ever  got 
those  enormous  stones  into  place  and  people 
who  know  a thousand  times  more  than  I can- 
not imagine  it  either.  And  the  terraces — the 
“stair-case  farms  of  the  ancients” — I was  com- 
pletely dazed  when  I thought  of  the  awful 
labor  needed  to  build  them  and  fill  them  with 
soil  brought  frorn  some  far-distant  valley  and 
after^  that  to  build  aqueducts  and  keep  their 
hanging-gardens  irrigated ! Somewhere  in 
this  region  perhaps,  were  grown  the  queer- 


18 


looking  tubers  sent  as  curiosities  to  Spain — 
the  ancestors  of  millions  and  millions  of 
bushels  of  potatoes  which  have  since  helped 
to  feed  the  world. 

This  countrj’-  produces  also  Peruvian  bark. 
Think  of  all  the  good  quinine  has  done  in  the 
world ! It  is  certainly  time  we  paid  our  debt 
and  brought  food  and  medicine  to  these  poor 
Indians. 

Aunt  Julia  says  that  their  greatest  need  is 
for  the  “Bread  of  Life”  and  the  “Leaves  that 
are  for  the  healing  of  the  nations”. 

The  terraces  are  not  irrigated  as  they  once 
were  so  the  crops  raised  are  small  and  poor. 
It  is  pitiful  to  see  the  Indians  making  burnt 
offerings  of  drugs  and  aromatic  plants  or 
burying  in  the  ground  small  images  to  bene- 
fit their  crops  and  herds.  One  day  we  saw 
the  smoke  of  the  incense  rising  and  I asked 
Aunt  Julia  why  they  did  it. 

“The  reason,  Betty,”  she  said  gently,  “I 
think  is  this : the  religion  of  these  poor 
people  is  simply  a baptized  paganism.” 

“But  Auntie !”  I said,  “I  shouldn’t  think  it 
had  been  baptized!” 

“I  am  afraid  you  are  right,  Betty,”  said 
Auntie,  smiling  gravely. 

I feel  so  sorry  for  these  Indians ; they 
seem  to  have  no  pleasures ; even  the  children 
have  no  toys  and  I have  never  seen  any  of 
them  playing. 

I have  seen  such  a sad  thing.  A little  girl, 
certainly  not  more  than  three  years  old,  driv- 
ing home  a sheep  loaded  with  small  branches 
for  fire-wood,  and  oh,  girls ! that  baby  had 
gathered  them  all  herself  I I saw  her  every 
evening  and  she  must  have  worked  hard — poor 
midget ! — all  day  long.  That  was  more  than  I 
could  bear.  I know  we  have  child  labor  too — 
more’s  the  shame  and  pity,  and  they  are  not 
Christians  either  in  South  or  North  America 
who  let  a little  child’s  happiness  be  crushed  out 
like  that.  I can  never  forget  what  Miss  Mar- 
garet has  taught  us  about  these  things.  Don’t 
you  remember? 


19 


“Lisabetta,  Marianina,  Fiametta,  Teresina, 
They  are  winding  stems  of  roses,  one  by  one, 
one  by  one — 

Little  children  who  have  never  learned  to 
play : 

Teresina  softly  crying  that  her  fingers  ache 
to-day. 

Tiny  Fiametta  nodding  when  the  twilight 
slips  in,  gray. 

High  above  the  clattering  street,  ambulance 
and  fire-gong  beat, 

They  sit,  curling  crimson  petals,  one  by  one, 
one  by  one.” 

I’m  happy  that  there  are  multitudes  of  peo- 
ple in  our  country  who  are  trying  to  bring 
them  to  an  end.  Aunt  Julia  says  the  day  is 
coming  when  in  South  America  also  the  love 
that  Jesus  taught  us  to  feel  for  all  little  chil- 
dren will  prevail,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  that 
day  is  a long  way  off  unless  Christian  people 
in  our  country  hurry  more  to  become  Good 
Samaritans  to  their  “neighbor,”  because  the 
people  here  have  never  been  told  of  Jesus’  love 
and  that  He  commanded  us  to  love  one 
another. 

There  is  an  unexpected  chance  to  mail  this 
letter,  so  I must  stop  but  will  write  more  from 
La  Paz. 

Your  much  exalted, 

Betty. 

( Conttnited  in  Part  Secojid) 


20 


Series  II,  in  ^v/iich  Betty  ‘^Goes  Abroad" 

‘"Crabelfi” 

II.  Betty’s  Trip  to 
South  America 

PART  SECOND 

(Bolivia — Chile) 

Katharine  R.  Crowell 

Author  of  ^fair  America,"  Pioneers" 
'"'‘Japan  for  Juniors,  " etc. 

Written  by  Request 

The  Woman’s  Presbyterian  Board  of  Missions 
of  the  Northwest 
Room  48,  509  S.  Wabash  Ave., 
Chicago,  111. 

Price,  5 cents  each  : 50  cents  a dozen. 


Copyright,  l9l6 
by  Katharine  R.  Crowell 


Betty’s  Trip 
to  South  America 

PART  SECOND 
( Letter  continued  from  Part  First) 

I must  tell  you  what  happened  on  Lake  Titi- 
caca— of  all  unlikely  places ! Do  you  happen 
to  remember  that  this  great  inland  sea  is 
the  highest  lake  in  the  world  (I  don’t  see  how 
a lake  could  be  much  higher  than  12,500  feet!) 
and  that  through  the  middle  of  it  runs  the 
boundary  between  Peru  and  Bolivia? 

Well,  then,  think  of  us  crossing  this  lake 
in  a very  comfortable  little  steamer,  if  you 
please ! I think  it  was  made  in  Scotland. 
The  various  parts  were  brought  up  these  aw- 
ful mountains,  piece-meal,  and  put  together 
here.  If  I had  not  remembered  to  mention 
this  fact  you  might  have  thought  it  was  a 
native  boat  we  were  in — steam  and  all ! 

O,  no,  my  dears  ! Let  me  inform  you  that 
the  natives  make  their  boats — called  balsas — 
after  the  pattern  they  were  using  what  time 
the  aforesaid  Pizarro  ungently  disturbed  their 
quiet  lives : that  is,  they  make  their  boats  of 
rushes  fdoes  this  make  you  think  of  a cer- 
tain little  “basket”  found  floating  once  on  a 
time,  near  the  banks  of  the  Nile?)  and  these 
are  driven  across  the  lake  by  means  of  sails 
made  also  of  reeds. 

As  I said,  we  preferred  a steamboat,  and 
sitting  on  deck,  we  watched  the  sunset  and  the 
lovely,  lovely,  afterglow  on  Illimani  and 
Sorato  and  other  mountains  which,  high  as 
the  lake  is,  tower  10,000  feet  above  it  I I can- 
not even  try  to  make  you  see  the  lights  and 
shadows,  and  the  exquisite  softness  of  those 
marvelous  colors.  Only  a Ruskin  could  do 
that  and  even  then  they  would  be  all  prisms 
because  of  the  tears  in  your  eyes,  if  your 
eyes  are  like  mine ! 


1 


Now,  who  do  you  suppose  watched  the  sun- 
set with  us?  Well,  when  we  went  out  on  the 
little  deck  a young  man  on  the  opposite  side 
glanced  across  and  with  one  spring  was  be- 
side us  exclaiming,  '‘Why,  Miss  Temple!”  and 
“Why,  Bettina!”  in  one  astonished,  joyful 
breath. 

And  lo ! the  voice  was  the  voice  of  Harold 
Moffatt — Harold  the  Hiker!  Oh,  but  it  was 
good,  away  up  here  above  the  clouds,  to  see 
some  one  we  knew  and  who  talks  in  English! 
I was  so  choked  with  gladness  that  for  a min- 
ute I could  not  say  a word.  (I  can  hear  Uncle 
Robert  murmur  as  you  read  this  to  him, 
“Betty’s  tongue  still  for  a whole  minute? 
Oh,  impossible!) 

We  had  expected  to  find  him  somewhere, 
but  we  cannot  tell  whether,  when  he  sprang 
to  meet  us,  the  boat  had  crossed  the  boun- 
dary or  not ; so  Harold  and  I ^ shall  never 
know  whether  we  met  in  Bolivia  or  Peru ! 
Any^vay,  it  has  been  lovely — and  lively — 
since. 

“How  very  pleasant  it  is  to  have  him  with 
us!”  said  Aunt  Julia.  “Really,  Betty,  I cannot 
think  of  anyone  who  would  be  more  welcome 
— except,  of  course,  his  sister.  (Miss  Florence 
Moffatt  is  Auntie’s  most  intimate  friend.) 
Can  you,  Betty?” 

“Why  no.  Auntie”,  I said.  “I  agree  with 
you  perfectly,  only — / don’t  except  Miss  Flor- 
ence.” 

“Your  eyes  need  not  dance  right  out  of 
your  head  if  you  don’t”,  said  Auntie,  laughing : 
then  she  gave  a little  sigh.  Oh,  Betty,  child,” 
she  said,  “you  are  growing  older.” 

“But,  Auntie”,  I said,  “I  cannot  help  it — 
unless  I should^  stop  living.”  “Well,”  said 
Auntie,  “I  certainly  would  not  have  you  do 
that.” 

La  Paz  is  perfectly  fascinating — a surprise 
from  the  very  first  minute  when  we  saw  it 
quite  unexpectedly  over  the  edge  of  the  pla- 
teau— 14,000  feet  high,  as  I told  you — lying 
1,500^  feet  below  in  a great  hollow,  as 
if  laid  out  in  an  enormous  saucer,  beauti- 
ful plazas  and  fine  streets,  churches — built  of 

4 


a soft,  white  stone  and  in  their  belfries  most 
musical  and  softly  chiming  bells ; red-roofed 
old  Spanish  houses,  terraced  gardens  running 
up  the  surrounding  sides  of  the  “saucer,”  a 
population  of  70,000  and  electric  lights  and 
trolleys,  the  last  named  “made  in  America” 
(i.  e.,  the  United  States)  as  we  found  later. 
Indeed  it  was  funny  to  see  up  here  in  the 
very  roof  of  the  world,  “Wilmington,  Dela- 
ware,” in  some  of  the  cars  ! 

The  La  Paz  River  sets  my  imagination  fly- 
ing! A small  stream  here,  yellow  and  tu- 
multuous, it  hurries  along  towards  the  east 
having  various  names  and  being  joined  by 
other  little  rivers,  becomes  the  Madeira,  flows 
into  the  Amazon,  and  at  length  reaches  its 
goal — the  Atlantic  ocean!  Fancy  its  experi- 
ences and  the  sights  by  the  way  ! 

Oh,  the  gay-colored  crowds  in  the  streets 
of  La  Paz!  Walking,  sometimes,  and  carrying 
heavy  burdens,  or  riding  on  horses,  mules,  or 
funny  little  donkeys  (but,  strange  to  say, 
Gladys,  none  rode  on  pampas!)  There  were 
no  wagons  or  carts. 

There  are  a great  many  more  Indians  than 
Spanish  people  in  Bolivia  and  in  La  Paz  the 
best  place  to  see  them  is  at  the  market.  There 
is  color  for  you ! I wonder  how  they  get 
such  brilliant  dyes — red,  in  every  possible  and 
impossible  shade,  blazing  orange,  blue,  green, 
purple,  yellow,  all  of  the  most  intense  hues. 
Even  the  men  are  quite  gay,  wearing  ponchos 
of  these  colors.  Now,  don’t  think  a poncho  is 
a hat!  It  is  a square  blanket  with  a hole  in 
the  center.  The  wearer  thrusts  his  head 
through  the  hole  and  down  falls  the  poncho, 
in  graceful  folds,  over  his  shoulders. 

Where  everybody  is  so  polite,  I don’t  wish 
to  be  rude  but  a North  American  habit  of 
truth  compels  me  to  add  that  these  gorgeous 
beings  might  be  even  more  brilliant  if  their 
gay-colored  garments  were  cleaner,  and  it  is 
also  true,  as  Harold  says,  that  many  of  the 
people  were  wearing  their  “glad  rags'*. 

The  market  is  so  interesting.  There  are 
for  sale  not  only  such  things  as  one  might 
look  for  in  the  temperate  zone  (though  we 

5 


are  still  in  the  tropics!)  including  many  that 
I never  saw — for  instance,  tiny  scarlet  toma- 
toes which  grow  on  a tree ! — but  also  the  most 
luscious  tropical  fruits,  brought  up  from  the 
hot  valley  below. 

There  is  also  a drug  store  in  La  Paz.  But 
you  must  not  think  of  shelves  and  glass  jars 
and  bottles.  This  drug  store  is  kept  by  In- 
dian women  who  sit  on  the  ground  in  the 
midst  of  small  hand-woven  bags  of  bright 
colors  and  patterns — these  also  not  so  gorge- 
ous as  they  might  have  been — which  contain 
little  rolls  of  cinchona  bark,  or  coca  leaves  or 
other  medicinal  plants.  I counted  twenty-four 
bags.  Aunt  Julia  says  their  “pharmacopoeia” 
— whatever  that  may  be ! — is  quite  extensive. 
The  people  chew  coca  leaves  constantly.  They 
say  they  gain  from  them  the  strength  and  en- 
durance to  carry  heavy  loads.  As  everything,  in 
La  Paz  must  be  brought  up  these  terrible 
heights  on  some  poor,  patient  back — human  or 
beast — it  is  no  wonder  they  chew  coca  if  they 
think  it  helps  them,  but  these  leaves  are 
what  cocaine  is  made  from,  so  I think  it  must 
really  do  more  harm  than  good.  Girls  chew 
it.  I said  to  Harold  that  a certain  girl  would 
be  quite  pretty  if  she  were  not  chewing  coca. 

“Exactly  what  I’ve  often  said  in  North 
America,  Betty !”  answered  Harold.  “That 
girl,”  I said,  “would  really  be  very  pretty  if  she 
were  not  chewing — gum  ” “I  was  just  think- 
ing,” said  Aunt  Julia  with  a queer  smile,  “how 
‘one  touch  of  nature  makes  the  whole  world 
kin’ !” 

In  the  market  we  saw  some  of  those  pitiful 
little  images  that  I spoke  of.  I bought  a few 
for  our  Club  museum  to  help  us  not  to  for- 
get the  thousands  of  people  who  have  never 
been  taught  where  they  really  may  find  Help 
in  time  of  need. 

As  I said,  there  are  missionaries  here.  How 
lonely  and  far  away  they  must  feel,  if  it  ever 
enters  their  thoughts  that  the  people  at  home 
may  have  forgotten  them ! They  are  so  glad 
to  see  Aunt  Julia!  the  way  they  look  at  her 
makes  a big  lump  come  up  in  my  throat.  They 
are  cheery  and  brave,  though,  and  tell  Auntie 


that  they  expect  to  do  great  things  for  Bo- 
livia through  their  schools. 

You  would  hardly  look  for  a kindergarten 
high  above  the  clouds,  would  you?  (Of 
course  I do  not  mean  by  that,  in  heaven!) 
Well,  there  is  one;  I have  been  to  it  every 
day.  The  children  are  faseinating.  It  is 
simply  amazing  to  see  what  soap  and  water 
can  do  as  beautifiers ! Besides  the  Spanish 
schools,  there  are  free  night  schools  for  the 
Indians.  So  you  see  America  (North)  is  pay- 
ing at  least  a tiny  bit  of  interest  on  its  great 
debt.  There  are  two  Protestant  churches 
where  the  services  are  in  Spanish  and  there 
are  also  services  in  English  for  the  little 
Amercan  colony  at  La  Paz.  Last  Thursday 
evening  we  attended  an  English  prayer-meet- 
ing, 12,500  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea ! 

I am  sorry  to  say  good-by  to  La  Paz ! We 
leave  on  Monday  for  Antofagasta — Harold 
says  he  has  heard  it  called  “Andy,  go  faster”, 
and  with  good  reason.  We  shall  make  the 
journey  on  a little  narrow-gauge  railroad. 
But,  truly,  when  a ledge  overhanging  a preci- 
pice 10,000  feet  deep — more  or  less — is  three 
feet,  two  inches  wide,  or  seems  so,  Td  rather 
have  the  track  only  thirty  inches  wide ! 

Perhaps  I’ll  write  you  on  the  way  to  Andy, 
etc. 

Lots  of  love  from 

Betty. 

On  the  way  to  Antofagasta,  via  the 

A.  and  B.  R.  R.,  Dec.,  191 — 
My  Dear  Miss  Margaret  : 

We  are  on  our  way  from  La  Paz  to  Anto- 
fagasta on  the  coast  of  Chile.  By  coming 
down  from  Bolivia  by  this  road,  A-e  are 
missing  some  places  at  which  Aunt  Julia  had 
hoped  to  stop:  it  just  breaks  her  heart  to 
pass  by  any  mission  work,  and  there  are  mis- 
sions in  several  of  the  towns  along  the  deso- 
late Chilean  sea-coast. 

We  are  traveling  now,  as  I said  we  should,  on 
a narrow-gauge  road,  the  little  cars  of  which 
are  surprisingly  comfortable.  Our  first  stop 

7 


was  at  Oruro,  and  what  do  you  think  we  saw 
there?  Nothing  less  than  a printing  press, 
brought  there  of  course  by  missionaries.  It 
is  only  a few  years  since  religious  freedom 
was  granted  to  Bolivia.  A short  time  be- 
fore that  a colporteur  of  the  American  Bible 
Society  coming  to  Oruro  was  assassinated. 
Now  the  lives  of  the  missionaries  are  safe, 
but  the  men  and  women  who  live  to  teach 
the  people  and  help  them  to  live  better  lives 
are,  I think,  simply  heroic.  They  are  carry- 
ing on  a fine  boarding  school  for  boys  and  a 
night  school  for  Indians.  A little  branch 
road  goes  eastward  from  Oruro  to  Cocha- 
bamba. Aunt  Julia  had  a special  reason  for 
going  there  but  I’m  sure  she  would  have 
gone  anyway  to  see  the  missionaries  and  their 
work,  for  Auntie’s  whole  soul  is  given  to  the 
work  of  carrying  the  Bible  to  Bibleless  lands 
and  I know  now  Miss  Margaret  that  South 
America  is  that — a land  without  a Bible,  al- 
though it  has  an}'  number  of  cathedrals  and 
churches  ! 

r said  once  that  I would  ask  Aunt  Julia  to 
tell  me  why  some  of  the  same  things  are  so 
different  in  North  and  in  South  America. 
Well,  I did ; and  she  told  me  to  try  to  think 
it  out  by  myself ! 

I thought  and  thought  and  listened  to  con- 
versations between  Auntie  and  the  missiona- 
ries and  talked  with  Harold  and  at  last  I 
knew- 

“Auntie”,  I said,  “I  have  found  out  the  rea- 
son for  the  difference  between  the  girls  of 
North  and  South  America”. 

“Have  you,  indeed  f”  said  Auntie. 

“Hear!  Hear!”  exclaimed  Harold. 

“That  is  just  what  I want”,  I said.  “Please 
listen.”  And  then  I recited  in  my  best  man- 
ner— you  taught  me.  Miss  Margaret!  ‘'The 
breaking  waves  dashed  high” ! 

( See  Page  17) 

“That  is  the  reason,”  I said,  when  I had 
finished. 

“Betty!”  gasped  Aunt  Julia.  “What  do  you 
mean  ?” 


8 


“Why,  Auntie”,  I said,  “I  mean  that  Mrs. 
Hemans,  upside  down,  or  rather,  I think, 
wrong  side  out,  is  my  reason.” 

“Is  the  child  crazy?''  said  Auntie.  Mrs.  He- 
mans  ‘wrong  side  out!'  Explain  yourself,  my 
dear !” 

“This  is  what  I mean,”  I said.  “Every 
thing  our  Pilgrim  Fathers  and  Mothers  were 
and  did,  the  Conquistadors  weren't  and  didn't. 
Don’t  you  see?  They  were  not  a band  of 
exiles  and  they  did  come  as  the  conqueror 
comes ; the  depths  of  the  desert  gloom  did 
not  ring  with  their  hymns  of  lofty  cheer  and 
they  didn't  sing  amid  the  storms  and  the 
stars  and  the  sea  didn't  hear  and  the  sound- 
ing aisles  of  the  dim  woods  did  NOT  ring 
to  the  anthem  of  the  free  I The  rocking 
pines  of  the  forest  didn't  roar  and  this  was 
not  their  welcome  home.  There  were  no 
men  with  hoary  hair, — they  were  all  young 
men  hoping  to  get  rich  long  before  their 
heads  were  anything  like  hoary, — and  there 
was  not  woman’s  fearless  eye,  and  instead  of 
making  for  themselves  strong  and  stern 
Christian  homes  as  our  Pilgrim  Fathers  did, 
they  forgot  they  were  Christians  and  married 
Indian  women,  and  they  did  seek  thus  afar 
bright  jewels  of  the  mine,  the  wealth  of  seas, 
the  spoils  of  war,  and  they  did  not  seek  a 
faith’s  pure  shrine.  You  cannot  call  it  holy 
ground  the  spot  which  first  they  trod  and 
they  did  not  leave  unstained  what  there  they 
did  not  WANT  to  find,  freedom  to  worship 
God." 

I had  to  stop  there,  I was  so  choky  and  out 
of  breath,  and  besides.  Aunt  Julia  was  laugh- 
ing, peal  after  peal,  and  tears  were  running 
down  her  checks!  As  for  Harold,  he  simply 
seemed  to  be  in  danger  of  convulsions. 

You  can  imagine  how  I felt,  dear  Miss 
Margaret,  but  I’m  glad  to  say  that  I man- 
aged not  to  cry,  and  to  say  in  the  most 
dignified  way — 

“You  seem  to  find  it  very  funny.  I do  not 
know  why,  for  I have  been  taught  that  we 
owe  everything  to  the  Pilgrim  Fathers  and 
the  open  Bible  and  that  their  strong  principles 

9 


of  right  and  wrong  made  our  America  and 
1 am  sure  it  is  true  that  South  America  was 
made  differently  because  the  people  who 
started  it  did  not  have  the  open  Bible  and 
could  not  have  those  principles,  and  ever 
since  we  were  in  Venezuela  I have  been  getting 
sorrier  and  sorrier  for  the  girls  who  do  not 
have  oiir  inheritance.  Miss  Margaret  ” I said, 
“always  taught  us  that  ours  is  the  most 
splendid  inheritance  any  girls  ever  had  or 
could  have.” 

Well,  by  this  time  I was  out  of  breath  again 
and  stopped,  but  Auntie  was  not  laughing  now. 
She  put  her  arm  around  me  and  said,  “Bravo ! 
little  Betty”,  and  Harold  saying  gently,  “I 
beg  your  pardon,  Bettina,”  held  out  his  hand. 
“Will  3'ou  shake,  comrade?” 

Now,  I had  been  perfectly  furious  at  him 
for  laughing,  but  my  anger  was  gone  and  of 
course  I shook. 

“Your  argument  is  certainly  convincing, 
Betty,”  he  said,  “but,”  his  eyes  laughing  and 
his  lips  twitching  again,  “I  think  you  must 
have  been  standing  on  your  head  when  you 
thought  of  it !” 

And  all  at  once  I saw  how  funny  I must 
have  sounded  in  my  tremendous  earnestness 
and  to  my  surprise  went  off  into  perfect  gales 
of  laughter  myself  in  which  Auntie  and  Har- 
old were.  I’m  suie,  only  too  glad  to  join.  As 
soon  as  I could  speak,  I said,  “But  that  is 
the  reason  for  the  difference,  isn’t  it,  Auntie?” 

“It  is  certainly  one  reason,  Betty”,  said 
Auntie. 

“And  a good  one,”  said  Harold.  “And  you 
are  a brick,  Bettina;  a genuine  little  brick!” 

So,  that  was  over ! 

I hope  we  shall  find  letters  from  you  and 
Uncle  Bob  waiting  for  us  at  Valparaiso,  and 
perhaps  I can  write  you  from  there.  But  you 
never  can  tell ! 

Your  loving,  and  grateful 
Betty. 

Coasting  down  the  Andes,  December,  191 — 
My  Dear  Girls  : 

As  you  doubtless  are  aware,  what  goes  up. 


10 


must  come  down ; so  it  is  only  natural  that 
we  should  be  shooting  down  from  above  the 
clouds  to  the  sea — that  is,  from  La  Paz  to 
Antofagasta ! 

I wish  we  might  have  remained  longer  on 
the  heights.  We  are  only  about  7,000  feet  up 
in  the  air  as  I write,  but  even  this  is  higher 
than  Old  Peter’s  Hill,  isn’t  it? 

We  made  quite  a stop  at  a place  called 
Uyuni ; fortunately  so,  as  it  gave  us  a fine 
chance  to  watch  long  trains  of  llamas  (seem- 
ingly in  good  health,  Edith !)  bringing  in  silver 
from  the  mines  at  Potosi.  I suppose  these 
little  animals  have  been  carrying  loads  of 
silver  from  Potosi  mines  since  the  days  of  the 
Incas,  perhaps  long  before  that,  and  this  may 
account  for  their  wise  and  ancient  expression 
of  countenance.  The  expression  of  their  faces 
is,  however,  less  ridiculously  supercilious  than 
that  of  their  Sahara  cousins,  which  you  must 
have  noticed. 

They  are  very  gentle  and  timid.  We  have 
seen  herd  after  herd  browsing  on  the  scanty 
grass  of  these  uplands  in  the  care  of  shepherds 
— or  should  I say  llamaherds  ? — for  they  have 
not  been  wild  for  hundreds  and  hundreds  of 
5’^ears — scamper  away  in  fright,  utterly  de- 
moralized by  our  tiny  train — exceedingly 
narrow  as  it  is,  and  cut  short  at  both  ends  ! 

The  llama  will  carry  a load  of  one  hundred 
pounds,  patiently  and  without  food  or  water 
for  miles  and  miles,  but  if  the  load  exceeds 
that  weight,  he  will  not  rise,  and  the  extra 
pounds  must  be  taken  off.  Good  for  the 
gentle  but  firm-willed  little  llama ! 

We  have  seen  alpacas,  something  like 
llamas  but  smaller,  large  flocks  of  perhaps  two 
hundred  grazing  on  the  high  mountains.  Like 
llamas,  they  are  brown  or  grey,  almost  black, 
and,  occasionally  white ; their  soft,  silky 
wool  is  sometimes  thirty,  often  twenty,  inches 
long.  We  have  sometimes  seen  llamas  and 
alpacas  in  care  of  the  same  shepherd. 

Can’t  write  any  more.  We’re  going  down 
such  an  awfully  steep  grade  that  the  pencil 
won’t  stay  on  the  paper ! 


11 


Later,  at  Antofagasta. 

If  Mollendo  had  not  been  even  more  so,  I 
would  say  that  Antofagasta  is  the  dreariest 
spot  in  all  South  America!  Very  important, 
though,  on  account  of  its  exports.  I wondered 
what  they  could  possibly  find  to  export! 
Never  a drop  of  rain  falls  and  the  whole 
region  is  utterly  desolate — not  even  a spear 
of  grass  will  grow;  yet  this  very  district  gives 
life  and  fertility  to — I v.’as  going  to  say  to  the 
whole  world,  for  here  are  immense  nitrate 
fields  and  nitrate  is  one  of  the  best  fertilizers 
known,  and  this  is  what  “Andy”  finds  to  ex- 
port ! 

We  have  been  out  to  see  the  works,  interest- 
ing, but  Oh,  girls,  the  saddest  thing  ever! 
The  homes  of  the  workers  are  nothing  but 
monotonous  rows  of  corrugated  iron  little 
square  boxes,  some  of  them  without  windows 
and  perfectly  dreadful  in  every  way.  I do 
hope  that  these  works  are  not  carried  on  by 
American  (I  mean  North  American)  compa- 
nies ! I know  that  a good  many  enormous  in- 
dustries on  the  Pacific  coast  are  and  if  these 
are  I should  be  so  ashamed! 

“Such  unhappiness!”  I said  to  Aunt  Julia. 
“Such  utterly  cheerless  living,  without  one 
rav  of  comfort  or  hope!” 

“Not  one  ray,  Betty?”  answered  Auntie. 
“Look  again”. 

So  I looked  down  the  long  dreary  stretch 
between  the  opposite  rows  of — boxes — and 
saw  away  at  the  other  end  but  coming  towards 
us.  a lady,  a tall  lady  in  white,  with  a scarlet 
flower  in  her  belt,  and  all  the  way  up  the  rows 
women  and  children  were  crowding  out  of  the 
boxes  to  see  her  and  oh,  girls!  I wish  you 
could  see  as  I did,  those  dull  faces  light  up 
into  happy  smiles  as  the  Lady  of  the  Scarlet 
Flower  came  nearer ! 

Well,  she  is  a missionary  lady  and  so  there 
is  a ray  of  hope  for  the  girls  of  the  nitrate 
works  ! 

But — there  are  so  many  girls  and  so  few 
missionaries  ! 

Harold  says  it  is  time  to  go  to  the  steamer. 
T wonder  how  we  shall  get  aboard  this  time! 


12 


There  will  probably  be  a good  deal  of  excite- 
ment and  lots  of  fun — or  fright — according  as 
one  looks  at  it.  Tell  you  about  it  next  time. 

Love  to  all,  from 

Betty. 

Valparaiso,  Chile,  South  America, 

December,  191 — 

My  Dear  Girls  : 

Valparaiso,  they  tell  me,  means  Vale  of 
Paradise  and  it  seems  almost  that  after  Anto- 
fagasta and  the  rainless  country ! Only,  I 
think  an  actual  paradise  would  be  cleaner. 
I must  say  that  in  so  far  as  we  have  seen  it. 
South  America  is  not  immaculate.  Nor,  alas! 
is  all  of  North  America,  but  our  cities  do  not 
have — but  let  it  go;  “comparisons  are  odious” 
— I might  in  this  connection  almost  spell  them 
odorous. 

I cannot  get  over  my  surprise  in  finding 
how  old  these  southern  cities  are.  Certainly 
the  Conquistadors  should  be  credited  with  lots 
of  bravery  and  energy  in  so  quickly  overcom- 
ing the  obstacles  and  perils  of  South  America. 
Think  of  how  few  years  passed  between  their 
learning  of  the  wealth  of  Peru  and  the  estab- 
lishment of  cities  and  towns  almost  all  over 
the  continent.  (Excepting  of  course  Brazil 
which  is  quite  another  story!)  Why,  Val- 
paraiso and  Santiago  and  many  places  farther 
south  and  on  the  eastern  side  of  the  great 
mountain  ranges,  were  quite  large  and  flour- 
ishing cities  before  the  Puritans  ever  dreamed 
of  “coming  over.”  I think  it  was  before  there 
were  any  Puritans,  for  that  matter.  Santiago, 
for  instance,  is  nearly  one  hundred  years  older 
than  “Boston,  Mass.” 

One  thing  pleases  me : those  gold-seeking 
Spanish  Conquistadors  were  not  able  to  con- 
qnist  the  Indians  of  Chile  ! It  gives  me  thrills 
to  think  that  the  Araucanian  Indians  were  too 
strong  for  the  Spaniards  and  were  never  con- 
quered by  them,  but  Oh,  girls,  they  are  be- 
ing made  _ slaves  now  by  alcohol  and  Pm 
afraid  it  is  sold  to  them  by  traders  from 
Christian  nations.  Isn’t  that  terrible?  I hope 
not  from  the  United  States ! Certainly  this 


13 


does  not  help  to  make  Valparaiso  a vale  of 
Paradise ! 

But  we  have  seen  something  that  does,  and 
will  even  more  as  the  children  grow  up,  for 
there  are  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  boys  and 
girls  in  the  Valparaiso  mission  day  schools 
and  Sunday  schools.  These  schools  were 
started  a long  time  ago  and  Aunt  Julia  says 
that  a great  many  of  the  present  fine  men  and 
women  of  Chile  were  taught  in  them. 

That  is  splendid  to  think  of. 

There  is  much  more  to  tell  about  Valparaiso 
but  I cannot  write  it  now,  because  in  a few 
minutes  we  must  leave  for  Santiago,  about 
four  hours  from  here  by  train.  We  expect 
to  spend  Christmas  Day  there.  I do  hope 
*you  will  all  be  thinking  of  me  then ! Some- 
how I feel  awfully  far  from  home  today.  We 
went  this  morning  to  hear  the  little  primar- 
ies sing  the  Christmas  carols.  It  was  per- 
fectly lovely — as  sweet  as  sweet  could  be,  but 
a wee  bit  homesick-y. 

I hope  all  the  Christmas  remembrances  we 
have  sent  you  will  be  received  in  good  time 
and  the  love  packed  in  with  them  will  not 
have  slipped  out!  for  the  vicissitudes  (is  that 
spelled  right?)  of  the  mails  in  some  parts  of 
South  America  are  fearful  to  think  of. 

Your  thousands-Qiid-thousands-of- 

miles-away  friend, 
Betty. 

Santiago  de  Chile,  South  America, 

December  26th,  191 — 

Dear  Girls  : 

We  had  a perfectD  beautiful  day  j'ester- 
day  and  I suppose  it  really  was  Christmas — 
in  our  hearts,  I know  it  was — but  seeing  the 
most  ravishing  rose-gardens  and  countless 
gorgeous  flowers  in  full  bloom  in  this  delight- 
ful Santiago,  and  with  the  beautifully  decor- 
ated Christmas  trees  out  of  doors  and  grow- 
ing, and  finding,  as  everyone  else  appeared  to, 
a thin  white  fro^k  the  most  comfortable  thing 
to  wear,  I felt  that  T must  be  standing  on  my 
head,  as  Harold  said  on  a former  occasion. 

Oh,  you  dear  girls!  How  did  you  manage 


14 


so  to  time  that  delicious  Christmas  round- 
robin  as  to  exactly  allow  for  all  the  delays 
and  stoppages  by  the  way  to  which— -being  in 
South  America — it  was  of  course  subjected? 

Harold  went  to  the  post-office  very  early 
yesterday  morning,  coming  back  heavily  laden 
\>dth  letters  and  cards  and  packages  so  that 
we  had  the  loveliest  time  with  them  before 
breakfast  (not  your  breakfast,  but  ours,  which 
we  take  about  eleven  o’clock — it’s  more  like 
dinner  than  breakfast  though),  having  had 
early  coffee  and  rolls  and  fruit — not  that  I 
ever  drink  coffee — 

All  the  presents  are  lovely  and  you  are  dear 
to  remember  us  when  we  are  so  far  away. 
The  round-robin  was  almost  the  best  of  all. 
We  were  so  wild  with  laughter  over  the  things 
you  wrote  that  I could  hardly  read  it  aloud. 

I can  give  you  only  bits  of  the  long  (almost 
the  longest  day  of  the  year ! What  do  you 
think  of  flwf — for  Christmas?) , perfect  day, 
which  had  really  begun,  like  ours  at  home,  the 
evening  before  when  we  went  to  the  church 
to  hear  the  carols.  They  always  sing  “Silent 
Night,  Holy  Night”  on  Christmas  Eve  in  Span- 
ish-speaking countries.  It  was  exquisite.  I 
never  heard  that  lovely  hymn  sound  more 
beautiful,  unless  it  was  at  the  open-air  carol 
singing  around  The  Tree  of  Light  in  Madison 
Square,  New  York,  when  the  notes  seemed  to 
fall  through  the  glorious  moonlight  like  a 
shower  of  silver.  But  the  thousand  electric 
lights  of  that  great  tree  blazed  and  sparkled 
like  diamonds,  and  the  bright  star  of  hope 
shone  splendidly,  through  the  whitest  and 
most  feathery  snow  in  which  blue  shadows 
lurked  and  I knew  that  that  was  truly  Christ- 
mas Eve. 

Harold’s  first  thought  is  always  for  the 
Y.  M.  C.  A.  (unless  there  should  be  a Boy 
Scout  Troop  in  the  place!).  The  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
is  doing  a fine  work  in  Chile.  We  heard  about 
it  from  the  General  Secretary  for  Chile,  who 
came  on  Aunt  Julia’s  invitation  to  dine  with 
us  at  our  hotel. 

The  day  before  Christmas  we  visited  the 
“Santiago  College”  a splendid  mission  board- 

15 


ing  school  tor  girls.  They  happened  just  then 
to  be  going  through  an  Indian  club  drill  and 
were  doing  it  in  the  most  dandy  way.  To 
these  girls — Spanish  or  Indian  or  both,  many 
of  them  really  beautiful  girls,  too,  a love  of 
beauty  and  rhythm  and  of  doing  things  grace- 
fully and  prettily  seems  to  be  natural.  Those 
of  the  higher  classes  have  soft  voices  and 
charming  manners. 

We  went  also,  all  three  of  us  this  time,  to 
El  Instifuto  Ingles,  a mission  day  and  board- 
ing school  for  boys.  It  was  founded  forty 
years  ago,  and  is  one  of  the  best  known 
schools  in  South  America.  There  is  always 
a large  attendance,  the  students  coming  not 
only  from  Chile  but  also  from  several  other 
republics.  As  its  name  shows,  instruction  is  in 
English  and  many  of  the  boys  after  gradua- 
tion continue  their  studies  in  the  United 
States,  being  admitted  to  Columbia,  the  Uni- 
versity of  Pennsylvania  and  other  colleges 
on  certificate.  That  speaks  well  for  them, 
doesn’t  it?  And  Oh,  girls,  what  do  you  think? 
There  is  a Livingstone  Club  in  the  Institute ! 
I might  have  called  the  members  of  it 
brothers:  however,  I didn’t;  There  is  also 
a Y.  M.  C.  A.  and  every  day  strong  Bible 
teaching. 

There  are  two  United  States’  mission  boards 
working  in  Santiago ; one  carries  on  the  girls’ 
s^'hool  (Santiago  College),  the  other  the  boys’ 
(El  Instituto  Ingles).  I have  met  the  same 
thing  before  in  my  travels  with  Aunt  Julia; 
it  is  said  to  be  a fine  arrangement,  for  a few 
years  from  now,  when  the  students  will  want 
to  marr\’.  the  boys  can  find  well-trained  Chris- 
tian wives  and  the  girls  well-trained  Christian 
husbands  right  here  in  Santiago!  And  where- 
ever  they  may  go  they’ll  set  up  Christian 
home';,  and  that  will  be  a fine  thing  for  South 
America  ! 

Thanking  you  all  again. 

Your  not-so-homesick, 
Betty. 


(Concluded  in  Part  Three) 


16 


The  breaking  waves  dashed  high 
On  a stern  and  rock-bound  coast, 

And  the  woods,  against  a stormy  sky. 

Their  giant  branches  tost; 

And  the  heavy  night  hung  dark 
The  hills  and  waters  o’er, 

When  a band  of  exiles  moored  their  bark 
On  the  wild  New  England  shore. 

Not  as  the  conqueror  comes, 

They,  the  true-hearted  came. 

Not  with  the  roll  of  the  stirring  drums. 

And  the  trumpet  that  sings  of  fame ; 

Not  as  the  flying  come. 

In  silence  and  in  fear, — 

They  shook  the  depth’s  of  the  desert’s  gloom 
With  their  hymns  of  lofty  cheer. 

Amidst  the  storm  they  sang. 

And  the  stars  heard  and  the  sea ! 

And  the  sounding  aisles  of  the  dim  woods 
rang 

To  the  anthem  of  the  free! 

The  ocean-eagle  soared 

From  his  nest  by  the  white  wave’s  foam, 
And  the  rocking  pines  of  the  forest  roared — 
This  was  their  welcome  home  1 

There  were  men  with  hoary  hair 
Amidst  that  pilgrim  band — 

Why  had  they  come  to  wither  there 
Away  from  their  childhood’s  land? 

There  was  woman’s  fearless  eye, 

Lit  by  her  deep  love’s  truth ; 

There  was  manhood’s  brow  serenely  high, 

And  the  fiery  heart  of  youth. 

What  sought  they  thus  afar? 

Bright  jewels  of  the  mine? 

The  wealth  of  seas,  the  spoils  of  war? — 
They  sought  a faith’s  pure  shrine  I 
Ay,  call  it  holy  ground, 

The  soil  where  first  they  trod  I 
They  have  left  unstained  what  there  they 
found — 

Freedom  to  worship  God  I 


17 


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Series  //,  in  njohich  Betty  *^Goes  Abroad" 

“'Crat3elfi" 

II.  Betty’s  Trip  to 
South  America 

PART  THIRD 

(Argentine — Brazil) 


Katharine  R.  Crowell 

Author  of  '''‘Fair  America  f "Pioneers" 
"Japan  for  Juniors^  " etc. 

Written  by  Request 

Order  from  Headquarters  of  your 
Woman’s  Board  of  Foreign  Missions 

Price,  5 cents. 


Copyright,  1916 
by  Katharine  R,  Crowell 


Betty’s  Trip 
to  South  America 

PART  THIRD 

Santiago,  de  Chile,  South  America, 

January,  191 — 

Dear  Girls: 

I am  writing  a line  as  we  are  about  to 
start  for  Buenos  Aires.  Harold  left  us  yes- 
terday, to  take  the  steamer  at  Valparaiso  for 
the  journey  around  the  Horn;  we  are  going 
across  country  over  the  Andes  and  through 
Argentina. 

How  we  shall  miss  Harold!  He  hopes  to 
catch  up  with  us  again  at  Rio  de  Janeiro. 

My!  that  is  a long  name.  After  this  I shall 
call  it  simply  “Rio”! 

Now  we  go  via  the  Transandine  Railroad, 
up,  up,  up  to  the  clouds  again,  and  then — 
at  last,  Gladys! — we'll  ride  on  a pampa!  (or 
over  one).  Expect  to  be  in  B.  A.  in  two  days. 

Lovingly, 

Betty. 

Buenos  Aires,  Argentina,  S.  A., 
January,  191— 

My  dear  Miss  Margaret: 

We  arrived  in  this  city  two  days  ago,  and 
T have  not  caught  my  breath  yet!  Buenos 
Aires,  indeed  all  that  we  have  seen  of  the  Ar- 
gentine, is  perfectly  amasing.  So  big  and 
splendid  and  rushing.  Aunt  Julia  says  it  is  too 
rushing,  for  the  people  are  not  yet  ready  to 
bear  such  a whirl;  it  makes  them  dizzy.  I 
don’t  know  about  that — it  is  too  deep  for  me — 
but  I do  know  that  everything  is  tremendously 
interesting  and  exciting. 

We  came  over  the  mountains  through  the 
most  magnificent  grandeur,  perfectly  wonder- 


3 


ful  and  beautiful,  but  when  we  had  climbed  up 
12,000  feet  and  over,  the  scenery  was  terribly 
black  and  wild  and  stern,  almost  frightening. 
Here  the  train  went  through  a tunnel  and 
so  we  missed  the  summit  of  the  pass  and  “The 
Christ  of  the  Andes”.  You  told  us  about  this 
wonderful  statue,  Miss  Margaret,  why  it  was 
put  there  and  what  it  means.  I was  dreadfully 
disappointed  not  to  see  it.  Aunt  Julia  says  it 
could  be  seen  from  the  former  stage  route 
over  the  pass.  The  tunnel  saves  time  and  a 
wild  and  thrilling  ride  down  terrific  descents, 
but  deprives  one  of  that  vision ! 

But  we  saw  the  sunrise  in  the  Andes,  and 
the  glory  of  it  will  never  fade  from  my  heart, 
I know. 

But  the  pampas ! and  the  horses  and  cattle 
and  sheep ! Millions  and  millions ! And 
after  that  the  enormous  wheat  fields,  looking 
in  January  as  we  would  see  them  at  home  in 
July,  a great  billowy  ocean  of  golden  waves. 

This  trip  across  the  plains  was  such  a funny 
change  from  the  zig-zags  and  spirals  and 
horseshoe  curves  of  the  mountains.  Why, 
Miss  Margaret,  on  the  pampas  the  railroad 
runs  for  one  hundred  and  seventy-five  miles 
without  a curve,  and  over  such  a flat  country 
that  there  is  scarcely  a hummock  to  be  seen 
and  it  was  only  a few  days  ago  that  I was 
watching  Mount  Aconcagua,  nearly  four  miles 
and  a half  up  in  the  skyl 

These  immense  pasture-lands  and  wheat 
fields  of  course  made  me  think  of  our  west- 
ern country.  I said  so  to  Aunt  Julia. 

“There  is  one  great  difference,  Betty,”  said 
Auntie.  “What  is  it?” 

“There  are  no  houses”,  I said,  “no  com- 
fortable, home-y  looking  farmhouses  and 
barns.  Is  that  what  you  mean.  Auntie?” 

“That  ts  what  I mean,”  said  Auntie,  “and 
from  now  on  we  shall  notice  this  very  thing. 
When  you  are^  older,  Betty,  looking  back  on 
this  trip  you  will  realize  that  it  is  the  explana- 
tion of  much  of  the  ignorance  and  misery 
which  we  are  finding  in  South  America.  A 
very  few  people  own  almost  all  the  land  and 
millions  do  not  own  any  at  all.” 


4 


I thought  I had  become  used  to  the  antiquity 
of  South  America  1 Nevertheless,  I was 
simply  astonished  to  find  that  Buenos  Aires 
was  in  existence  in  1535!  yet  it  looks  and 
feels  like  a modern  city  and  a very  splendid 
one,  too.  There  are  many  elegant  buildings, 
cathedrals,  art  galleries,  a magnificent  news- 
paper building,  a great  many  beautiful  parks 
and  gardens  and  such  handsome,  well-kept 
streets,  especially  the  Avenida  de  Mayo. 
There  are  so  many  interesting  things  to  be 
seen  and  places  to  go  to  that  I cannot  find 
time  to  write  very  much,  but  I know  you  will 
wanr  to  hear  about  the  mission  work. 

Buenos  Aires  is  about  the  size  of  Phila- 
delphia, Pa.  Aunt  Julia  says  that  all  large 
cities  are  alike  in  having  terribly  wicked  and 
sorrowful  things  to  fight  against,  but  Phila- 
delphia, she  says,  has  five  hundred  protestant 
churches  with  hundreds  of  thousands  of  mem- 
bers to  help  her  in  her  fight  for  righteousness, 
and  Buenos  Aires  has  only  ten.  Each  city  has 
about  forty  Roman  Catholic  churches. 

So  you  see.  all  the  Christian  workers  here 
have  their  hands  full. 

One  evening  I went  with  Aunt  Julia  to  a 
big  popular  meeting,  held  in  an  immense  thea- 
ter. Sitting  next  to  me  was  a gray-haired  lady 
who  spoke  to  me  pleasantly  in  North  American 
and  told  me  very  interesting  things  about  the 
people  seated  on  the  platform.  Presently,  an 
usher  came  and  spoke  to  her.  She  smiled 
but  shook  her  head.  The  usher  said  the  Presi- 
dent had  sent  for  her,  and  at  that  the  lady 
arose  and  followed  as  the  usher  led  the  way 
to  the  platform.  A gentleman — I suppose  it 
was  the  President  of  Argentina! — came  for- 
ward to  greet  her  and  this  brought  down  the 
h'^use  in  tremendous  applause. 

Who,  do  you  suppose,  was  the  honored  lady? 
She  was  the  first  kindergarten  teacher  to 
come  to  Buenos  Aires,  and  what  do  you  think 
led  her  to  come? 

This  was  the  way  of  it:  President  Sarmi- 
ento.  who  gave  to  the  Argentine  its  snlendid 
svstem  of  schools,  wishing  to  establish  a 
Normal  Training  School,  commissioned  a mis- 


5 


sionary  from  the  United  States,  stationed  at 
Buenos  Aires,  when  he  was  about  to  go  home 
for  his  furlough,  to  select  and  bring  back 
with  him  suitable  teachers  for  this  school. 
This  gray-haired  lady — but  she  was  not  gray- 
haired then, — was  one  of  the  chosen  staff. 
I wish  you  could  have  heard  the  applause  that 
burst  forth  when  she  appeared  on  the  plat- 
form. Aunt  Julia  was  delighted  as  she  is 
with  everything  that  reflects  glory  on  her  be- 
loved missionaries ! 

Of  course  we  have  visited  all  the  mission 
schools  in  Buenos  Aires ; Aunt  Julia  says  a 
school  is  one  of  the  missionary’s  tools  and  the 
sharper  and  keener  the  tool  the  finer  work 
it  can  do,  and  she  just  glows  over  a finely 
equipped  boarding  school  with  a faculty  of 
well-trained  Christian  teachers. 

We  have  also  traveled  about  a great  deal 
and  one  day  stopped  off  at  a town  called  Lujan 
where  we  saw  such  a strange  sight.  Miss 
Margaret ! As  we  walked  through  the  streets 
I noticed  in  every  shop  window  a display  of 
statues  and  images  of  the  Virgin  Mary  and 
when  we  turned  into  a street  leading  to  the 
cathedral  there  were  crowds  of  people  creep- 
ing along  on  their  knees  on  their  way  to  the 
cathedral  to  worship  the  Virgin. 

There  are  constant  pilgrimages  to  this  shrine 
and  every  year  hundreds  of  thousands  of 
images  of  the  Virgin  are  sold ; this  is  the 
reason,  we  are  told,  for  the  town’s  prosperity. 
When  we  got  back  from  the  railroad  station, 
men,  women  and  children  were  still  coming 
from  the  train  who  would  creep  on  their 
knees  more  than  a mile  to  reach  the  cathedral. 

Until  that  day  the  Argentine  had  seemed  in 
some  ways  a good  deal  like  parts  of  the 
United  States,  but  this  pilgrimage  did  not. 

I liked  better  something  we  saw  in  Rosario, 
a large  city  on  the  Parana  river,  which  is 
built  on  a bluff  so  high  that  it  is  above  the 
tops  of  the  masts  of  the  shipping  in  the  water 
below.  Aunt  Julia’s  object  here  was  the 
American  College,  a fine  mission  hoarding 
s^'hool  for  girls  on  the  Mount  Holyoke  plan. 
The  building  is  large  and  modern  and  always 


6 


full,  supporting  itself  and  also  a large  free 
school  in  a poorer  part  of  the  city.  The 
American  College  is  about  thirty  years  old. 
The  Principal  told  us  that  many  lovely  wives 
and  mothers  of  Rosario  were  once  pupils  in 
this  Argentine  “Mount  Holyoke”. 

After  all  I have  told  you  hardly  anything 
about  Argentina;  yet  there  is  so  much  to  tell. 
Well,  it  must  all  wait  until  I get  home.  I 
think  I could  give  a whole  year  of  travelogues 
at  our  meetings ! I hope  you  have  received 
all  the  post  cards  mailed  you  since  we  left 
Santiago.  Any  one  of  them  will  be  enough 
to  set  me  off!  All  I need  is  a squeeze  for  I 
am  completely  saturated. 

Please  give  my  love  to  Uncle  Robert — if 
you  should  happen  to  see  him! 

Your  loving 

Betty. 


Montevideo,  Uruguay,  South  America, 

February,  191 — 

Dear  Girls  : 

If  you  were  in  Montevideo,  you  would  go 
about  with  your  eyes — perhaps  your  mouth ! — 
wide  open  in  perfect  astonishment ; unless  you 
happened  to  be  less  ignorant  than  I was  when 
I arrived. 

Why,  Montevideo  is  a beautiful  city,  con- 
taining 390,000  people.  Would  you  not  open 
your  eyes? 

The  city  is  built  on  a low  promontory  and 
in  its  growth  has  run  far  back  into  the  flat 
country  bc^liind,  and  around  the  Cerro,  a lofty 
hill  which  rises  so  suddenly  out  of  the  flat 
plain  that  it  is  no  wonder  the  first  people  to 
land  at  this  point  exclaimed  “Monte  video  1” 

I have  met  some  lovely  girls  at  Crandon 
Institute  in  this  city.  As  you  may  guess,  the 
Institute  is  a mission  boarding  school,  a splen- 
did one,  too.  These  educated  Christian  South 
American  girls  are  fascinating ; so  attractive 
and  winning,  so  cordial  and  sweet.  I love 
them  I and  some  of  them  are  going  to  do  a 
wonderful  work  for  the  less  fortunate  girls 
whose  lives  are  now  dreadfully  sad. 


7 


We  have  seen  a good  deal  of  Uruguay,  the 
smallest  of  the  South  American  republics.  It 
is  a country  of  rolling  plains  and  small  ranges 
of  hills.  You  should  see  the  great  cattle  and 
sheep  ranches.  These  I enjoyed,  but  not  the 
enormous  places  where  the  cattle  and  sheep 
were  turned  into  frozen  beef  and  mutton! 

But  we  had  a beautiful  time  at  the  Walden- 
sian  Settlement.  On  our  way  to  it  Auntie  and 
I had  nad  long  talks — m the  usual  way ; Auntie 
talking  and  I listening  and  asking  questions ! — 
about  the  Waldensians  and  their  splendid  his- 
tory, and  it  was  simply  thrilling  to  see  the 
descendants  of  those  old  heroes — and  also 
their  wonderful  flower  gardens  in  perfectly 
riotous  bloom ! 

Altogether,  I think  of  all  the  countries  we 
have  so  far  seen  in  South  America,  I would 
choose  Uruguay  to  live  in. 

We  shall  soon  be  in  Brazil — which  I suppose 
will  be  very  different  from  the  Spanish  re- 
publics. But  perhaps  you  don't  know,  my 
dears,  that  Brazil  is,  or  was,  a Portuguese 
country!  If  I have  time.  I’ll  tell  you  why, 
later.  You  see  I have  been  devouring  Aunt 
Julia’s  books  (some  of  them)  and  know  a 
whole  lot  about  Brazil.  It  is  an  enormous 
country,  for  one  thing.  As  large,  I believe, 
as  the  United  States,  including  Alaska. 

But  we  shall  not  see  all  of  it!  And  we 
must  skip  little,  shut-in  Paraguay,  entirely. 
Too  bad!  I did  so  want  to  see  the  wonderful 
Iguazu  Falls. 

But — what  can’t  be  cured  must  be  endured, 
I suppose ! And  think  what  I have  seen ! and 
so  I am. 

Cheerfully  yours,  ( !) 

Betty. 

On-the-way-to  Sao  Paulo,  Feb.,  191 — 
Oh.  Girls  ! 

We  did  take  a flying  trio  through  Paraguay, 
and  DID  see  Iguazu  Falls ! ! And  Paraguay 
is  so  interesting — the  first  Spanish  settlement 
in  eastern  South  America  to  hold  out,  and 
with  such  heroic  history — perfectly  fascinating 
and  all  new  to  me ! The  country  we  have 


trav^eled  over  is  in  some  parts  charming  to 
look  at  and  very  fertile.  I may  after  all 
choose  Paraguay  when  I come  to  live  in 
South  America! 

The  80,000  people  who  live  in  Asuncion 
have  a clean  and  pleasant  city.  To  reach  it  we 
sailed  more  than  one  thousand  miles  up  the 
river  and  after  all  that  distance,  the  city  is 
only  two  hundred  feet  above  the  sea.  Yet 
another  thousand  miles  “cross  lots”  would  take 
us  up  to  La  Paz,  which  is,  as  I have  before 
remarked,  12,500  feet  high.  I might  say  in 
passing  that  those  particular  lots  are  not  often 
crossed  by  the  white  man,  the  whole  region 
being  one  of  the  few  spots  still  marked  “Un- 
explored” on  the  map  of  the  world.  It  is 
known  to  be  the  abode  of  pagan  and  savage 
Indians.  Room  for  missionary  work  there 
and  missionaries  ore  there!  At  least,  one  mis- 
sionary is.^  He  is  sent  out  by  the  South  Amer- 
ican Missionary  Society.  Doesn’t  that  give 
you  thrills?  If  not,  ask  Miss  Margaret  to  tell 
you  again  the  story  of  Allen  Gardiner. 
“Spaniard  Harbor”  and  Captain  Gardiner’s 
prayer  I have  never  forgotten.  Part  of  the 
answer  to  his  prayer  for  the  Indians  is  this 
heroic  missionary  to  the  Indians  of  the  Gran 
Chaco. 

And  would  you  believe  it?  There  are  mis- 
sionaries here  from  the  United  States;  they 
came  on  the  urgent  invitation  of  the  Para- 
guavan  Government  and  are  doing  splendid 
work.  You  must  remind  me  to  tell  you  about 
the  boys’  and  girls’  schools  when  I get  home. 
We  were  in  Asuncion  over  Sunday  and  heard 
a North  American  sermon,  the  last  thing  I 
should  have  expected!  But  Fm  learning — the 
mantle  of  ignorance  is  beginning  to  drop  off  I 

I must  write  just  a wriggling  word  (we  are 
now  on  the  train,  going  by  rail  to  Sao  Paulo 
and  the  roadbed  is  not  quite  so  smooth  as  the 
“Pennsy”)  about  the  falls  of  the  Parana,  at 
the  point  where  three  countries — Brazil,  Para- 
guay and  the  Argentine — meet. 

There  is  a series  of  falls  and  the  highest 
is  210  feet.  This  is  the  way  the  water  comes 
down : 


9 


“Dashing  and  flashing  and  splashing  and 
clashing — • 

And  so  never  ending,  but  always  descending, 

Sounds  and  motions  for  ever  and  ever  are 
blending. 

All  at  once  and  all  o’er,  with  a mighty  up- 
roar— 

And  this  way  the  water  comes  down  at” — 
Iguazu ! 

through  the  most  magnificent  scenery.  You 
simply  cannot  imagine  the  gorgeousness  of  it 
all — gigantic  trees,  and  trailing  over  them 
brilliant-flowered  creepers,  and  orchids,  be- 
yond belief,  and  as  if  that  riot  of  color  were 
not  intoxicating  enough,  bright-winged  birds 
flashed  through  rainbozvs  and  butterflies  like 
jewels  fairly  dazzled  the  airl 

I shall  never  forget  it — never;  but  I have 
not  yet  had  my  heart’s  desire  as  to  falls.  I 
71'onder  if  Aunt  Julia  will  ever — but  that  de- 
pends a good  deal  on  her  publisher!  Just  now 
I must  be  gathering  my  traps  together,  for  we 
are  not  far  from  Sao  Paulo. 

Lots  of  love  from 
Betty. 

P.  S.  Aunt  Julia  has  read  this  letter  over 
my  shoulder.  I glanced  at  her  and  lo!  her 
eyes  were  all  crinkled  up  in  a laugh. 

“What  is  it,  Auntie?”  I said  anxiously.  “I 
did  not  mean  to  be  funny!** 

“T  was  only  thinking,  dear,”  said  Auntie, 
really  laughing  now,  “that  your  letters  fairly 
groan  with  italics  and  bristle  with  exclama- 
tions and  I wonder,  Betty,  that  there  is  an 
adiective  left  in  the  dictionary!” 

“But.  Auntie,”  I said,  “I  want  the  girls  to 
know  how  I feel  and  South  America  is  in  the 
superlative,  so  I need  exclamations  and  when 
it  comes  to  lauasu  Falls,  there  are  reallv 
not  enough  adjectives  in  the  dictionary!  I 
almost  had  to  use  some  of  them  twice.** 
“Well !”  said  Auntie  with  a laugh  and  a 
little  sigh,  too,  “You’ll  get  over  it  in  time”. 
Then  she  kissed  me  {in  the  train!)  and  said, 
“But  don’t  let  it  be  too  soon,  Betty  of  the 
Bright-eyes ! I love  you,  bristles  and  all, 
just  as  you  are.” 


10 


“Perhaps,  Auntie,”  I said,  with  a glance  at 
the  spear-heads — I had  no  idea  I had  used  so 
many — “if  you  called  me^  Betty  of  the 
Bristles,  or  Bristling  Betty,  it  might  help” — 
“Nonsense,  child”,  said  Auntie  laughing, 
“Bristle  all  you  like,  and  continue  to  be  Betty- 
Bubbling -over,  for  that  is  what  we  are  used 

tor 


B.  M. 


Sao  Paulo,  Brazil,  South  America, 
March,  191 — 

My  dear  Miss  Margaret: 

At  last  we  are  in  Brazil.  As  I wrote  to  the 
girls.  Aunt  Julia  suddenly  found  Paraguay 
a possibility,  which  was  glorious,  but  we  have 
missed  some  interesting  places  in  Southern 
Brazil,  Auntie  hopes,  though,  to  run  down  to 
Curityba ; she  says  the  fine  school  for  boys 
and  girls — the  Eschola  Americana — has  been 
one  of  her  pet  interests  for  years  and  she 
simply  cannot  go  home  without  seeing  it. 

But  I must  tell  >ou  about  Sao  Paulo.  It  is 
a large  and  beautiful  city,  2,000  feet  above 
sea  level.  This  makes  a delightful  climate,  not 
too  warm  and  quite  bracing.  There  are  many 
handsome  buildings  but  of  course  the  most 
interesting  to  us  are  those  of  Mackenzie  Col- 
lege. Aunt  Julia  thinks  this  is  the  best  col- 
lege in  all  Latin  America  1 She  says  that  the 
beginning  of  Protestant  educational  work  in 
Sao  Paulo  was  a group  of  a dozen  children, 
gathered  to  be  taught  in  a room  of  the  mis- 
sionary’s home.  Now  there  are  many  build- 
ings on  the  campus  and  students  in  all  grades 
and  departments  number  842 ! The  kinder- 
garten of  this  system  of  schools  was  the  first 
in  Brazil  and  the  model  for  the  government 
kindergartens.  (One  for  missions  !) 

We  went  by  rail  seventy-five  miles  to  San- 
tos, which  is,  next  to  Rio,  the  greatest  coffee 
shipping  port  in  the  world.  The  air  is  full  of 
the  fragrance  of  millions  of  pounds  of  coffee ! 
Santos  used  to  be  dreaded  on  account  of  its 
terrible  fevers,  but  now  it  is  a very  healthy 
city — clean  and  attractive. 


11 


But.  oh,  Miss  Margaret,  the  people  of 
Brazil!  We  have  seen  very  few  who  are 
really  zvJiite;  so  many  are  black  and  so  many 
of  all  kinds  of  shades  I — Europeans  and  In- 
dians and  Negroes,  in  every  degree  of  mix- 
ture. I remembered  what  brought  the  Negroes 
here  from  Africa  and  was  surprised  when 
looking  at  the  map,  to  see  what  a short  dis- 
tance they  had  to  come  I Aunt  Julia  says  that 
even  if  Columbus  had  not  said,  “On  and  On! 
and  On/"  South  America  would  surely  have 
been  discovered  in  time  by  mariners  bound  for 
the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  and  driven  westward 
before  the  wind  within  sight  of  the  continent. 

Another  thing  surprises  me.  Miss  Mar- 
garet. That  is  that  so  many  nations  tried  to 
get  possession  of  this  eastern  coast.  We  have 
perfectly  thrilling  talks  trying  to  think  how 
it  might  have  been — that  is,  how  things  would 
be  now,  if  France  or  Holland  or  England  had 
succeeded  in  their  attempts.  Why,  the  Dutch 
really  had  a “New  Amsterdam"  down  here 
even  before  they  had  one  in  North  America, 
and  if  we  can  stop  at  Pernambuco  as  Aunt 
Julia  hopes  to,  we  shall  probably  see  bine 
plates  and  other  relics,  such  as  onr  Dutch- 
desrended  people  are  so  proud  of  I I never 
dreamed  that  the  Dutch  ever  owned  any  part 
of  South  America — excepting  of  course. 
Dutch  Guiana,  and  Auntie  says  they  got  it 
from  England  in  'exchange  for  our  “New 
Amsterdam,”  which  then  became  New  York! 

We  are  going  to  Curit5^ba  ! and  Auntie  ha.^ 
just  called  “Elisabeth!*’  in  rather  a crisp  tone 
whirh  I know  means  “Come  at  once  to  get 
ready!"  So,  I fly! 

As  always,  your 
Betty. 

P.  S.  Auntie  glanced  over  this.  “It  seems 
to  me,  Betty,"  she  said,  “that  Aunt  Julia 
savs  a great  many  things !" 

“Well,  she  does,  Auntie,”  I said. 

“You  incorrigible  child!”  she  said,  but  her 
eyes  were  laughing,  so  it  was  all  right,  but 
we  had  to  fly  for  the  t.-'ain ! 

B.  M. 

12 


Rio  de  Janeiro,  Brazil,  S.  A., 

March,  191 — 

Dear  Girls  : 

Rio  is  simply  wonderful!  I feel  like  the 
country  girl  v/ho  tried  to  write  home  a de- 
scription of  the  Panama  Exposition. 

Dear  Mother:  (she  wrote). 

I have  been  to  the  Fair.  1!  11 II 

Your  affectionate  daughter, 

Sarah  Jane. 

That  is  about  all  I can  do. 

Such  wide,  beautiful,  clean  Avenidas — four 
rows  of  trees,  flowers  down  the  middle  and 
the  loveliest  electric  lighting  I Such  an  en- 
chanting harbor  with  the  city  beautiful  com- 
ing down  in  a crescent  to  meet  it  I Such  a 
superb  sea-drive  I And  the  entrancing  moun- 
tains as  a background  for  the  wonderful 
beauty  I And  color! 

All  this  proves  Rio  to  be  in  Latin  America, 
for  in  it  love  of  beauty  is  first  and  useful- 
ness next.  They  would  do  without  useful- 
ness, Fm  sure,  if  it  must  be  ugly.  I think  of 
some  Anglo-Saxon  cities  I have  seen,  and 
groan!  Why  do  5'ou  suppose  it  is,  that  when 
we  have  taught  other  folks — Havana,  Aunt 
Julia  says,  was  the  object  lesson  and  it  has 
been  only  a few  years  since  Rio  and  Santos 
were  “cleaned  up” — we  should  not  be  immacu- 
late ourselves?  There's  “a  poser”  for  you! 

We  have  seen  too  the  splendid  suburbs — 
Oh,  lovely! — and  we  have  been  in  the  woods 
that  surround  the  city,  where  there  are  tall 
palms  and  fruit  trees  growing  wild,  and  pine- 
apples, delicious  when  they  are  gathered  all 
ripe  and  luscious — bananas,  mangoes — can't 
begin  even  to  name  them  all,  and  more  birds 
of  exquisite  plumage,  and  more  radiant 
butterflies  I 

Taking  it  altogether,  I think  the  beauty  of 
this  River-of-January  city  has  slightly  “gone 
to  my  head”  I 

If  only  it  were  as  good  as  it  is  beautiful  I 

I suppose  there  is  only  one  place  as  good  as 
Rio  is  beautiful  and  that  is  the  Beautiful 
City  into  which  can  enter  nothing  that  is  un- 
clean nor  that  maketh  a lie.  But  there  are 


13 


many  people  here  giving  their  lives  to  spread 
the  knowledge  of  Christ ; and  their  work  is 
extending  even  beyond  Rio.  There  is  a splen- 
did Y.  M.  C.  A.,  and  churches  and  schools  and 
much  printing  of  good  liteature. 

Girls,  it  is  the  most  splendid  thing  to  teach 
the  boys  and  girls  of  South  America  to  read 
English  1 There  are  no  lovely  books  like  ours 
written  in  Spanish  or  in  Portuguese  and  think 
of  the  pleasure  that  knowing  English  will  open 
up  I 

Fancy  girls  who  have  never  heard  of  Little 
Women  or  Anne  of  Green  Gables  nor  Dave 
Porter  nor  Billy  Topsail  nor  Henty  nor  the 
Youths’  Companion  nor  Longfellow — why  all 
these  and  Emmie  Lou  too,  are  our  intimate 
friends  and  there  are  thousands  of  others  that 
we  simply  adore. 

The  girls  may  be  able  to  read  the  Bible  in 
Spanish  or  in  Portuguese,  but  they  have  none 
of  the  books  that  the  Bible  has  taught  people 
to  write.  So  whenever  I see  English  classes, 
my  heart  jumps  for  joy. 

We  shall  leave  beautiful  Rio  soon.  I shall 
never  forget  it. 

Your  loving  friend, 
Betty. 

But  Harold  did  not  arrive! 

Bahia,  Brazil,  S.  A., 
April,  191 — 

Dear  Miss  Margaret: 

There  is  time  for  only  one  more  letter  from 
South  America,  and  I shall  write  it  to  you. 

Bahia  is  very  interesting  and  unusual.  There 
is  a lower  town  where  we  landed  and  high 
on  a cliff  above  it  is  built  an  upper  one  to 
which  we  ascended  in  an  elevator  1 The  upper 
town  gives  a fine  view  of  the  lower  town  and 
the  Bay.^ 

Bahia  is  the  oldest  city  in  Brazil  and  is  next 
to  Rio  in  size.  We  have  had  a perfectly  dandy 
time  and  enjoyed  seeing  the  mission  work,  but 
I want  to  tell  you  first  about  our  itinerating 
trip.  We  went  away  back  into  the  interior  for 
about  400  miles,  over  the  mountains  and  across 
streams  until  we  came  to  the  San  Francisco 


14 


river.  There  is  a railroad  for  a part  of  the 
distance;  after  that  we  traveled  on  mule  back. 
Such  adventures!  killingly  funny,  some  of 
them  were.  Aunt  Julia  says  the  novelty  and 
unexpectedness  of  the  happenings  is  what 
makes  them  so  amusing  as  when  in  crossing 
a river  our  pack  mule  suddenly  disappeared 
in  a deep  hole  and  all  our  belongings  were 
perfectly  soaked — if  you  could  have  seen  us, 
Miss  Margaret,  sitting  on  the  rocks,  with  all 
our  worldly  goods  spread  out  around  us  for 
the  sun  to  dry  them!  We  looked  so  ridicu- 
lous, and  Aunt  Julia — Oh,  I nearly  died  laugh- 
ing! 

But  I can  see  how,  as  Auntie  says,  when 
these  things  have  happened  for  fifty  times  and 
the  missionaries  know  beforehand  that  they 
will  happen,  then  when  they  do,  it  may  not  be 
so  screamingly  funny!  and  Auntie  says  that 
this  is  what  itinerating  in  the  country  back 
from  the  railroads  means  to  the  missionaries. 

Well,  at  last  our  guide  told  us  that  we  were 
near  our  journey’e  end,  so  we  began  to  look 
for  signs  of  a mission  station.  Suddenly  I 
saw  a bright,  homey-looking  house. 

“There  it  is!”  I called  out. 

“How  do  you  know  it  is?”  Aunt  Julia  called 
back. 

“By  the  white  curtains  in  the  windows  and 
the  flowers  in  the  balcony,”  I said.  “Fm  sure 
that  is  the  missionary's  house,”  and  it  was ! 
And,  presently,  a smiling  lady,  wearing  a 
white  dress  with  heliotrope  and  lemon  ver- 
bena in  her  belt,  came  down  the  road  to  meet 
us. 

The  minute  I saw  her  blue  eyes  and  heard 
her  merry  catching  laugh — which  made  me 
laugh  too,  I simply  loved  her.  She  said  she 
couldn’t  begin  to  tell  us  how  glad  she  was  to 
see  us  or  how  kind  we  were  to  come 
to  see  her^  and  then  she  took  us  into 
her  dear  little  home — the  brightest,  cozi- 
est rooms  with  books  and  pictures.  There 
was  one  that  looked  like  the  picture  of  Mark 
Twain  but  the  missionary  said  it  was  her 
father  and  I saw  tears  glisten  in  her  eyes  as 
she  looked  at  it 


15 


After  we  had  seen  her  house  and  the 
garden,  where  there  is  an  orange  tree  grow- 
ing as  naturally  as  if  it  bore  apples  or  cherries, 
we  were  invited  to  dine.  A perfectly  delicious 
dinner,  with  fresh-picked  oranges  for  dessert ! 

Well,  that  was  only  the  beginning,  for  we 
stayed  three  days  and  saw  how  she  is  helping 
everybody  within  reach  to  be  happier  and 
better,  and  all  the  time  I was  thinking,  how 
could  she  live  here  alone,  and  not  hearing  a 
North  American  word,  year  after  year,  and 
then  when  the  place  has  grown  dear  because 
she  has  done  so  much  for  it,  and  all  the  peo- 
ple are  her  warm  friends  (if  they  do  tell  her 
so  in  Portuguese),  and  there  is  a little  church 
and  a Sunday  school  which  she  has  built  up — 
then  she  must  move  away  from  it  all  to  some 
new  and  even  lonelier  place  and  do  it  all  over 
again,  for  this  is  the  way  of  missionaries  in 
Brazil ! 

ril  never  forget.  Miss  Margaret,  how  she 
looked  when  she  said  to  Aunt  Julia,  as  they 
talked  about  the  work  in  Brazil. 

“As  I look  at  it.  Miss  Temple,  we  are  not 
here  essentially  or  expressly  to  make  Prot- 
estants of  the  people.  We  are  doing  what 
every  Christian  worker  does  in  any  land ; we 
are  fighting  sin  and  evil  and  sorrow  and  try- 
ing to  bring  our  people  to  ‘the  light  of 
the  knowledge  of  the  glory  of  God,  in  the 
face  of  Jesus  Christ.’ 

“When  they  find  this,  the  errors  of  Rome 
usually  fall  away  of  their  own  weight.” 

Then  she  looked  at  me  and  smiled.  “It  is 
a hard  fight,  Betty.”  she  said,  “and  we  need 
soldiers  to  help  us”. 

And  I smiled  back  at  her,  and  in  my  heart 
I thought,  “What  if  I should  come  back  to 
South  America  some  da3%  and  help  her  in  her 
hard  fight !” 

What  would  you  think  of  that.  Miss 
Margaret,  for 

Your  lovingest  child, 
Betty. 


16 


